


4am

by Elizabethramuk



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hotch is bi, Hurt!Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know how to write anything other than angst, I promise, I'm working on it, JJ is nosy, LDSK, M/M, Spencer is bi, Toxic Relationship, Violence, boys are stupid, but not too bad, casefic, i didn’t mean for it be this toxic, i think, im still figuring it out, itll get better, kind of, mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabethramuk/pseuds/Elizabethramuk
Summary: Hotch pitied him; that’s why he had offered to teach him how to shoot. Spencer had only accepted Hotch’s offer so that in two weeks, when he could retest, maybe he could save himself from the shame that came from Hotch’s sympathetic looks. Then again, at least Hotch was looking at him at all.In which, Spencer settles for friendship with Hotch when he is led to believe a relationship is off the table.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 93





	1. Mahogany

**SPENCER** Reid has never been a good shot. Sure, last week he had put a bullet through Philip Dowd’s head, but he had been aiming for his _leg_ for God's Sake. He failed his gun qualifications again. Everybody on the team knew it; _Hotch_ knew it, and that embarrassed Spencer beyond belief.  
  
Hotch _pitied_ him; that’s why he had offered to teach him how to shoot. Spencer had only accepted Hotch’s offer so that in two weeks, when he could retest, maybe he could save himself from the shame that came from Hotch’s sympathetic looks. Then again, at least Hotch was looking at him at all.  
  
Morning light had only just begun it’s descent down from the sky, into the dull city of Quantico, Virginia. The liveliness of Quantico peaked midday, and simmered down into nothingness as nighttime approached. Evidently, that nothingness continued into the early hours of the day, more specifically 4am.

Spencer was confident that he and Hotch were the only ones awake, let alone shooting firearms at this hour. Hotch’s breath was hot against his shoulder as he corrected Spencer’s form, right hand on Spencer’s hip, the other tangled in unruly hair, an attempt at centering Reid’s line of vision directly over the target. Spencer felt his breaths shallow, unable to breathe in deeply, lest he catch a hint of the expensive cologne he knew his superior would be wearing.

The sophisticated scent of mahogany was a pleasure he would not, could not allow himself right now. Not with Hotch pressed up so close behind him, his words hot puffs of air against his neck. Too deep a breath, and he would be pushed over the edge, too far for redemption. Shallow breaths were satisfactory for now.  
  
“Front sight, trigger press, follow through.”  
Hotch had been saying it for weeks now, as if Spencer couldn’t remember. Spencer remembered _everything_. Still, he repeated it internally, as if the mantra was the key to mastery. _Front sight, trigger press, follow through. Front sight, trigger press, follow through._

A shot rang out, metal piercing the thin paper sheet slightly to the left of the illustrated figure’s shoulder. 

For the totality of the next hour and a half, shots continued to flow out of Spencer’s gun, none of which satisfying either man's standards. Hotch didn’t let his disappointment show, but Spencer could see it in his microexpressions, his downturned eyes.

“This isn’t working, Hotch. How am I supposed to have your back in the field if I can’t even hit a stationary target?” Reid whined, his voice echoing throughout the empty range. Hotch’s hand lifted off his hip, the other following soon after, his fingertips lingering atop his subordinates head for a second too long. Reid didn’t notice the hesitation, too caught up in the loss of connection to care. 

“That’s why I’m here. To teach you,” Hotch removed the sound muffling headphones from their position atop his ears, then the protective glasses, signaling the end of their session. Reid got the message, and began to pull his gear off as well. “Now come on, it’s time for work.”

I I I I I

Upon their entrance to the office, the lack of workers further supported Spencer’s earlier claim. The few agents that were seated at their desks drowned their exhaustion in black coffee and milky lattes. Glazed over eyes swung side to side, reading small print contracts and confidential files, bodies shielding the contents of the papers from passersby.

Jennifer Jareau was the first BAU worker into the office, as per usual. Her soft blue eyes narrowed harshly upon Hotch and Reid’s arrival, staring through the blinds of her office window. They couldn’t see her, but she could see them. It was almost voyeuristic. Her face twisted into a grimace at the realization; Unsubs were prone to voyeuristic tendencies, and Jennifer Jareau was _not_ an Unsub. Consequent to this shameful thought of hers, she averted her eyes, and returned to the task at hand; separating case files based on severity and urgency. 

Absent-mindedly, her hands worked at sorting, but her mind was somewhere else. It wasn’t unusual for Hotch and Reid to arrive early. It was however, extremely atypical for them to arrive _together_. A middle aged, married man like Hotch has little in _common_ with the young Dr. Reid. Besides, if something _was_ going on between two members of her team, she would be the first to know.

As the team's communications liaison, interpersonal issues, relationships, and everything in between were to be reported to JJ directly, and she made sure of it. 

She was pulled out of her train of thought by an exceptionally gruesome set of images. From the looks of it, this case surpassed all others in terms of both severity and urgency.

I I I I I

The soft rapping against Hotch’s office door was not enough to catch his attention. He tended to immerse himself in his work, blocking everything from his senses, with the exception of the pen in his hand and the words in front of him, whether they be from a paper file or a pdf. 

JJ knocked harder this time, with enough force to send ripples through the wooden doorframe. The metal door knob jingled as the vibrations passed. This time, Hotch heard. “Come in.’’ JJ pulled the door open and stepped into the room, sitting down in the chair across opposite to Hotch’s own. “We have a case,” she said, placing the file onto his desk. The wooden surface matched the door in color, a warm toned beige of sorts. JJ continued on, “Two months ago, Stacy Matthews was abducted from her home in the suburbs of Chicago. Hinsdale, I believe. Two days after her disappearance, a body was found placed in her front yard. She was still warm. A month later, Natalie Green. And most recently, Margot Pattinson. She’s already been missing for fourteen hours,” Hotch held a single finger up, indicating he needed a moment to process the contents of the file. 

“Cause of death?” he asked, flipping through the pages, the explicit crime scene photos a blur of reds and browns. 

“Both women were stabbed over twenty times. There were signs of external sexual assault, but the medical examination didn’t conclusibely prove rape. They hadn’t eaten or drank water over the course of their abduction either.” 

Hotch nodded along as she spoke. “Call Gideon, Elle, and Morgan. Reid’s already here.” There was an obvious tension brought on by Hotch’s statement. He stood, straightening the creases that had settled into his shirt from his position in the stiff chair. “What?”  
  
JJ sighed, eyes half lidded in exhaustion. “Is there something going on between you and Reid?” 

She knew full well that even if there was something going on between her coworkers, they wouldn’t admit to it, but at least she could get an idea of what _kind_ of something she was dealing with based on his response. People seem to underestimate her ability to read expressions. Sure, she wasn’t a profiler, but she had still endured the harshness of the FBI academy, and passed all her physcology courses. She wasn’t incompetent, as many were inclinced to believe. 

“No, and I suggest that you don’t ask again.” 

_Defensive_ , JJ noted. It could mean one of two things; either he simply did not appreciate what she had insinuated, or he was overcompensating, and she didn’t like the sound of the latter. Relationships between coworkers, especially between a superior and a subordinate never end well in JJ’s experience, especially with homicidal maniacs and glock-19’s thrown into the mix.

“Oka-” she was cut off by Hotch. 

“Just call the others and get the hell out of my office,” he stated, infuriatingly calmly. She had hoped to get a rise out of the man; she could handle being yelled. She could handle being on the receiving end of a “strict talking to,” so long as she could get anything to help her read him. Something had occurred this morning, and JJ didn’t know exactly what, but it sure as hell had left a sour taste in her mouth.


	2. Reid, a word?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why the Hell did it bother him that he and Reid weren't sleeping together?"

**“MARGOT** Pattinson is an average suburban teenager. Brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin. She’s not exceptionally pretty, or an exceptionally gifted student. She’s average in all ways. She leads a pretty typical low risk lifestyle, school in the daytime, volleyball in the late afternoon, always home in time for dinner. Stacy Matthews, the first victim, and Natalie Green, the second had similar coloring, and the same tall and thin frame,” JJ paused for breath, “January fourth of this year, Gina Matthews, the victim’s mother stepped outside her home in Hinsdale, Illinois. Stacy Matthew’s body had been… displayed on the front porch. Her multiple stab wounds had been cleared of any blood. Time of death is estimated to have been an hour prior,” JJ presented the images across the screen, ignoring Garcia’s sharp intake of breath.

“We have less than two days to find Stacy Matthews. We can finish the briefing on the jet. Wheels up in ten.” At his dismissal, the team began to venture off, Garcia to her office, the other agent’s in search of their go bags or spare scraps of food to tie them over for the long flight. “Reid, a word.”

The team’s bewildered looks matched Reid’s own. “Why, Sir?” Reid asked, doing everything he could to avoid looking his boss in the eye. _He knows about your little crush. He knows. He knows. He-_ Lavender fingernails tapped against the round table, catching Reid’s eye.

“Why are you questioning me? When I say Reid, a word, you give me a word,” Hotch slammed the file he had been reading shut, finally losing the sense of calm he had maintained throughout his conversation with JJ.

Reid ignored Hotch’s outburst, eyes drifting from pale purple nails to the hem of JJ’s crimson blouse, following the line of her arm, her shoulder. Finally, his gaze settled upon her face, a knowing look plastered upon it.

Hotch didn’t fail to notice the lingering look shared between JJ and Reid. Perhaps if Reid hadn’t looked completely and utterly _baffled,_ he would've been jealous. If he weren’t married, that is. “JJ, you too.”

“Hotch I’m sorry if earlier I pressed some bu-”

“Everybody out.” Once more, the members of the BAU began to make their way out of the round table room, with the exception of JJ, who stayed planted in her seat. “Not you, Reid.”

I I I I I

“Reid, can you give us a minute?” JJ uttered, not paying him any mind. Her and Hotch had been staring at each other for what felt like hours, although based on the ticking clock, it had been nearly two minutes.

“Well I uh… I’m not sure. Hotch told me to stay,” Reid stuttered. He was _completely_ lost. Hotch was angry, JJ looked mildly concerned (also angry), and Reid was completely lost. “What’s going on?”

“This morning Agent Jareau insinuated that we were sleeping together, and I’m not particularly fond of that accusation,” Hotch remarked. He was back under control, calmness seeping through his words, drenching them in condescending neutrality.

Cheeks ablaze, eyes wide, Reid looked absolutely horrified. Hotch seemed disgusted at the mere thought of sleeping with him. It was a wake up call; he had been wasting the past year of his life thirsting after a married man. Some part of him had always thought maybe. Maybe one day, Hotch would wake up and realize he wasn’t happy with Haley anymore. Maybe, he would realize that _Spencer_ made him happy. No matter how far fetched the idea may have been, he had always thought it to be _possible_. At least until now.

“JJ, can you leave us alone. I need to talk to Hotch.”

JJ acknowledged him with a slight nod, before standing up and exiting the room. Reid watched through the open door as Morgan and Elle pounced on her, bombarding her with questions. The door slammed shut, and one again it was just him and Hotch, albeit he was slightly more uncomfortable than he had been in the earlier hours of the day.

“Hotch why are you so upset? She just asked a question. I mean I understand you may not want to sleep with me, but-” Reid was cut off.

“It’s not that Reid. It’s just… I value my professionalism. A rumour like this could ruin my status in the office,” Hotch lied. He could care less about office politics. It bothered him that he wasn’t sleeping with Reid, and yet he was still receiving all the slack that would’ve come with it. _Why the hell did it bother him that he and Reid weren’t sleeping together?_

“Do you really think that the stunt you just pulled was professional?” Reid looked down to his fiddling thumbs, “All because you couldn’t stand JJ thinking we’re sleeping together?” Reid rushed out of the room, not daring to look back at Hotch’s face.

I I I I I

No one had spoken a word since Reid had run out of the round table room, red faced and teary eyed. Silently, they watched as he pulled his go bag out from underneath his desk and downed a coffee, as he and Hotch boarded the jet (separately). An awkward silence had consumed the majority of the flight, aside from the painfully uncomfortable briefing and Morgan and Elle’s endless inquires, whispered carelessly in JJ’s ear.

Hotch sat solemnly in his usual seat, next to Reid. Neither of them had said a word since their little spat earlier. The space between them was meticulously measured; every time Hotch would inch towards Reid, Reid would inch towards the window.

Perhaps taking Reid to the shooting range these past few weeks had been a silly idea. His intentions hadn’t exactly been innocent. No matter how bad things got between the two of them, he would lever cheat on Haley (unless of course, Haley was cheating on _him_ ), but if over the course of Reid’s training, the two of them had grown closer, he certainly wouldn’t have been opposed. 

Hotch could handle waking up next to Haley if it meant hearing Reid’s laugh echo through the empty shooting range, standing so close to him he could smell his mint body wash. 

He didn’t know what had gone wrong over the course of the morning, but one thing was for sure. He needed to mend things with Reid, and the first step was apologizing to JJ.


	3. Margot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare fuel, really.

**“HOTCH?”** What are you doing here? It’s late,” JJ rubbed at her eyes. After an unbearably awkward day spent taming inadequate police men and nosy news reporters at the Hinsdale precinct, JJ just wanted to unwind in her hotel room. Alone.

“I wanted to apologize for my behaviour this morning.”

JJ exhaled through her mouth, emphasizing the whoosh of air that flowed out from between her full lips. “Hotch come in, we need to talk.”

She stepped back into her room, clearing the doorway just enough to let the man in. Hotch hesitated, but complied nonetheless, leather shoes clicking softly against the ugly striped carpet.

JJ sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Hotch joined her, seating himself next to the woman stiffly, failing to hide his discomfort. “What did you want to talk about?”

She looked up at him curiously; it was unlike any other expression he had seen her take on, harsh but consoling all the same. “I’m going to talk for a minute, and you’re just going to listen, okay,” she paused, waiting for him to nod in compliance, “I love Reid like a brother. I don’t think anything has happened between you to yet, but based on the way he gushes about you and the way you practically eye-fuck him, I’d say something is going to happen pretty soon. It’s sort of inevitable. And listen, it doesn’t really concern me; if you want to ruin your marriage, by all means go ahead. But don’t you dare hurt Reid. Because I love him, like a brother,” she stopped to catch a breath, “I’m not going to give you the whole ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you talk’ because I won’t. Kill you, I mean. I’ll go to Strauss instead, and keep in mind she likes me a helluva lot better than you. She’s practically itching to send you to White Collar.”

When he doesn’t respond, she gives him a curt nod and a pat on the back. She ventures off into the kitchenette in search of liquor and allows Hotch some time to soak up her words. When she retrieves a bottle of white wine from the mini-fridge, she pours herself a tall glass, strategically not offering her superior any. She doesn’t want him to think she’s doing him any favors.

Hotch speaks loudly, surprising her enough to shake the glass of alcohol, liquid rippling over the top of the cup. “I won’t hurt him. I’ll hurt me, and probably my wife, but never him.”

“I trust you, Hotch. If I didn’t, you’d already have Strauss calling you back to Quantico for a little chat.” “I just, I just don’t want you to think that I’m just screwing with him for the Hell of it. I mean I’m not screwing him in general. _Fuck_. I- I really care about him. More than I’d like to admit.”

“Well would you look at that, Agent Hotchner is _flustered_ ,” she teased, “Now get out. We’ve had our heart to heart, it’s time for me to continue the alone time you interrupted.”

He scoffed, “ _That_ was a heart to heart?”

I I I I I

Reid’s eye burned with images of slaughtered teenage girls, bones protruding from gaping stabwounds, faces gaunt from days of starvation. Nightmare fuel, really. He didn’t mind much though; it’s not like he hadn’t seen worse. Besides, it took his mind off _him._

He was seething. Not necessarily at Hotch, more so the feelings he associated with Hotch. It was surprisingly difficult to hate him. Normally, when he set his mind to something, he accomplished it. Ambition had always been the driving force of his life.

But when you smile at the scent of their signature cologne, masculine mahogany, when you place them on the same tier as Chopin and Margery Kempe in your mind, when you fall asleep imagining their hand in yours, it’s so extremely hard to hate someone.

He wished he could, he really did, but something about Hotch was just unhatable.

It’s so physically draining, so heartbreaking, to love someone who’s unable to love you back.

Margot Pattinson, not Aaron Hotchner, he thought. _Margot, Margot, Margot._

She was a beautiful girl, slim faced and angular. Her high cheekbones melted into a sharp jaw, her cupids bow descending harshly into plump, reddened lips. Her smile had been sincere in every image Reid had seen, the photos locked away somewhere in his subconscious, tucked away just in case. She was the kind of girl he would’ve loved to have known growing up; her extracurriculars ranging from mathletes to varsity cheer.

If Margot Pattinsion makes it to adulthood, she'll be exceptional.

Her death would be degrading, the work of a sexual sadist who gets his rocks off by humiliating his victims, in life and in death. She doesn’t deserve to be staged like she will be, a mere prop in some unsub’s humiliating idea of a play.

It was likely the attacker had been unbeknownst to Margot, or Gogo as her sister and mother had called her fondly. Margot was blitzed, weakened over a series of days, then stabbed from behind. Over and over and over.

It’s possible, Reid theorized, that the offender worked in law enforcement. Profession had been one of many things the team had discussed over the course of the day. Hotch and Gideon had supplied surgeon and physician as possibilities, though Reid disagreed. It was unlikely that this unsub could have maintained enough control to work their way through medical school, to not mame and violate their patients. They were impulsive and messy, not clinical as a surgeon may have been had he acted on his sadistic thoughts.

He was confident that the unsub was a white male, in his mid to late twenties. He wasn’t impotent, although it was hard for him to get off without violent imagery as an aid. Once they apprehended him, he would likely be in the possession of illegal pornography and snuff films of some sort. His vice had always been teenage girls, that hadn’t changed since his youth. At first it had been acceptable, just boys being boys. But then he had grown, and his taste hadn’t grown with him.

The unsub was a sex offender. He abused his power; winning over sexual favors from vulnerable, immature, but decidedly of age women. It had been enough to tie him over until recently, when the stressor had occurred, and he needed more to get off. Unfortunately, _more_ was murder.

As a teenager, when he hadn’t had enough power to abuse, he looked into the window of girls his age, watched as they disrobed, as they slept. Maybe it had been one girl, he thought. A girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. A girl like Margot. A girl who had made it to adulthood, who had been exceptional.

She died.

That was the stressor.

The brown haired woman was no longer there to abuse, to watch. He needed more, and he would get it in the form of Margot Pattinson if Reid doesn’t find her in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this wasn't the greatest. I've been kind of busy, so it's not edited too much. Next update will be soon, hopefully.


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, school has been keeping me busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you would just… trust me for once, we can save Margot.”

**“THE** unsub is Officer Coyne, Hotch,” Reid said, voice low, eye’s locked on Timothy Coyne's figure from across the room. 

“Reid, we have no evidence of that, " he paused momentarily, "Listen... I’m not saying you're wrong, I’m just saying we need to explore other opportunities first. There are other suspects to look into, like Garry Roche,” Hotch responded. He didn’t want to yell at Reid, but it was becoming increasingly difficult the more the man pestered him.

“Garry Roche is a neurosurgeon. The unsub is in law enforcement. Garry Roche doesn’t fit the profile, Timothy Coyne does,” Reid exclaimed. 

Hotch sighed, “Garry Roche fits the team’s profile, Timothy Coyne fits yours. There's a difference."

Reid shook his head violently.

“If you would just… _trust_ me for once, we can save Margot,” said Reid, exasperated. 

Margot Pattinson was dying. She had been since yesterday morning, and now, it was only a matter of hours before the Pattinson’s would find their daughter's mutilated corpse propped up on their front porch like a gift. Sure, they could wait it out. They could wait in front of the family’s home address until the quote on quote "delivery." Or, Hotch could listen to Reid for _one_ goddamn second, before it was too late. Before, Margot was gone _forever._

Hotch rubbed the back of Reid's shoulder blade, skimming across the top of the linen shirt. 

“Reid, I trust you. I do. But there is a protocol. We need a warrant, and for a warrant, we need evidence,” he rested his hand against Reid’s shoulder, consolingly, “You don’t have any evidence to support your theory, and you know that.” 

Reid shied away from Hotch’s gentle touch, cornering himself in the back of the precinct. He rummaged through stacks of evidence containing air tight plastic bags. There had to be something in here somewhere. 

_Come on, think Reid. Think._

A smidgen of red peaked out from underneath the pile of shimmering plastic. He plucked it out and examined the emboldened words on the label; it had been tucked into the first victim's book bag before she died, according to the text. 

_Hinsdale School District_

_District Wide Math Competition_

_Sponsored by the Hinsdale Police Apartment_

I I I I I 

“Garcia?” Reid whispered, the soft noise echoing around the empty storage closet he had locked himself in. 

It had been seven hours since he and Hotch had last spoken. _Seven_. Reid couldn’t begin to imagine the things that could have happened to Margot since then. Or rather he could, but he didn’t want to. 

“How are ya doin’ sweet thing?” Garcia mewled, her melodic voice providing a much needed comfort. Still, he could sense the apprehension in her tone. 

“I don’t know who told you what, but I’m not being irrational. Hotch doesn’t trust me or my opinion, and if he did, a girl who might die soon could’ve been reunited with her parents sevenhoursago,” said Reid. Garcia’s worry for him grew the more frantic his words became. The ending of his sentence had become jumbled from something akin to anger. 

She frowned, “Morgan may have told me that you’re taking this case kind of personally, and that things have been kind of tense between you and Hotch, but that’s it. I promise. Now lemme guess, you want the dirty dish on Coyne. Right? Hottie McTwo Shoes said you were _kinda_ obsessed with him,” she forced herself to shut up, “That came out wrong- I mean those weren’t his exact words.” 

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I just need you to check his high school records, see if there’s any overlap between him and a girl. She’d look similar to the victims. See if he was in any clubs or sports with someone like that. It's possible that there were some reports on her end of harassment or anything like that. It wouldn’t have been extreme enough to get police involved.”

Her long red fingernails clacked against the multicolored keyboard, the sound rebounding into Spencer’s ears. “I’ve got one report filed against Timothy Coyne by a Veronica Fury. She looks a lot like the victims. They were in a math club together until the day the report was filed. Veronica quit. Looks like she just claimed he had been bullying her, nothing specific. There was never a formal complaint.” 

Reid nodded along, “Wait. Margot Pattinson was in her school's Mathletes club,” he paused, allowing himself time to think, “Look at the other two victims, were they in any sort of math club?

More typing sounded, “...Oh my God, yeah. _Yeah_. Natalie Green was also in her school's math club. Gina Matthews was in a STEM club, does that count?” 

_Did it count?_ Or was he reaching for things that weren’t really there? No, this couldn’t be a coincidence. “I think so. Just one more thing, uh, is Veronica Fury, by any chance, uh, dead?” 

Typing. Typing. _Come on, please_. More typing. 

“Oh- yeah. She died of breast cancer three months ago.” 

I I I I I

Reid rushed into the storage room where Gideon and Elle were sorting through files. Hotch and Morgan were off on an interview with Stacy Matthews, the mother of one of the victims. “Gideon, where’s Coyne?” 

Gideon looks up from his file, scowling, his wiry glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Drop it, Reid.” 

Elle looked at him sympathetically, “He left for the night. He said he’d be back tomorrow morning,” she sighed, “Reid I really think-”

“No. No- just listen for a second. The woman he’s likely been abusing since teenhood died three months ago. The murders started a month later. He would’ve been… _obsessed_ with her, all right, her death would’ve hit him hard. And, all three victims are in math related extracurriculars. Coyne met the woman, Veronica, in his school’s math club. He’s white, he’s in his late twenties, he’s male. There’s a- a mathematics competition ran by the Hinsdale school district. It's sponsored by the police department. Which means that Coyne had access to all the girls. _Please_ ,” he begged. 

Gideon stayed silent, thinking. 

“Gideon, come on, are you serious?” Elle scoffed, grabbing the keys out of her bag, “We’re driving to Coyne’s house, and you’re coming with us.”

The man stood, snatching the key’s from Elle’s grip and patting Reid on the shoulder as he walked by. 

“I’ll meet you in the car. Call Hotch.” 

I I I I I 

_“I’m sorry Reid.”_

Reid gritted his teeth, his jaw becoming so tight it ached. After all this, all Hotch had to say for himself was _sorry_? 

Margot Pattinson was dead. 

By now, her body would be well on it’s way to the morgue, stiff and cold. An empty shell of the sharp-witted honor student she had been before. And it was entirely, without a doubt in Reid’s mind, Hotch’s fault. 

So he better be a hell of a lot more than sorry. 

Reid could feel his eyes begin to well up with tears. He wouldn’t let them fall, not yet. Crying meant showing Hotch vulnerability. The bastard didn’t deserve to see him like that, not anymore. 

Hotch, against his better judgement, reached out to cup Reid’s cheek, thumb tracing the rosy cheekbones, wiping away unfallen tear drops. The skin there was soft and warm, shadowed in the dark hallway of Coyne’s home. For a fraction of a second, Reid leaned into the touch, savoring the consoling gesture. 

had almost forgotten the anger. It had been building up since that morning in the round table room, but upon the discovery of Margot’s mangled corpse, it had peaked. Now though, as Hotch cradled his face in his hands, gently caressing him in a gesture far more affectionate than anything he had ever seen from the man, he could almost forget the resentment. 

Did he hold Haley like this as she cried?

He pulled away. 

“ _Fuck you,_ Hotch.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope it wasn't too bad. It might not make a whole lot of sense right now, but I'm going to explain what happened in Coyne's house in the next chapter.


	5. Click

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Margot’s hand was cold in his own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very lightly edited, so bear with me.

**REID’S** head pounded, the booming base of whatever tacky song Penelope had requested reverberated through his skull. He knew he had heard it before, leaking out of Derek’s headphones on the jet. It hadn’t bothered him nearly as much then. 

But things were different now. Now, he didn’t want to be here, in this dimly lit dive bar with his drunken friends. And Hotch. 

He had tried to leave several times since their arrival, but between JJ’s intoxicated whining and Penelope’s puppy dog eyes, it was nearly impossible. He hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place, but Penelope had promised a weekend long Doctor Who marathon if he stayed for at least three hours, so he had shown up. 

Reid glanced down at the watch on his wrist, straining to visualize the numbers in the dark room. 

9:46pm. 

Only an hour and fourteen minutes until he could go home and finish writing his paper on cognitive psychology. 

“Hey kid, wanna be a real darling an’ get me and Jayge some more drinksss?” slurred Morgan, his drunkenness overtaking his ability to speak properly. How had he gotten  _ that _ drunk in so little time? Reid glanced down to the table, noting that it was littered with empty shot glasses, the wooden table covered in sticky patches of sugary drinks. 

“Why do  _ I  _ have to do it?” he argued. He wasn’t planning on buying a drink any time soon, and the broken-in booth was  _ sinfully  _ comfortable.

“Because m’ too drunk to stand,” Morgan answered. Penelope, JJ, and Elle all chimed in with harpy  _ me too’s.  _

Reid looked around the table and groaned, everyone, aside from Hotch, was plastered. JJ had mascara running down her sweat ridden face. Penelope and Elle were clinging to each other as if their life depended on it. And while Morgan wasn’t externally intoxicated, his speech patterns said otherwise. 

“Fine, but I’m  _ not  _ paying.” 

He made his way through the heaps of inebriated bodies, ignoring the accidental smacks to his shoulders as he walked past. The bartender, a pretty blonde girl wearing an uncomfortably skimpy uniform, was quick to ask for Reid’s order. She seemed to be fleeing the loaded looks and grabby hands of the tipsy man to Reid’s left. 

Reid recited his friend’s drink orders from memory. Penelope and JJ always got some form of margarita, Elle a gin and tonic, and Derek a beer. If Reid were on speaking terms with Hotch, he might’ve ordered the man a whiskey on the rocks, but unfortunately, they weren’t. The blonde girl nodded, and got to work pouring drinks. 

“That’s a lot of drinks for one guy,” a syrupy smooth voice exclaimed. Reid looked to his right, to the source of the voice. She was another pretty girl, of many that currently resided in the bar. Her skin was porcelain, brown doe eyes providing a contrast to the rest of her soft appearance. Thin pink lips faded into the rest of her face, unceremoniously, but when she smiled at him, it was so sincere he nearly melted. 

_ She has Margot’s smile,  _ he thought. 

The bartender set two brightly colored drinks down onto the counter before him with a subtle  _ click  _ against the table top. 

“Uh, they’re not all for- for me. I have some, “ he laughed nervously, “friends over there,” he threw his hand back in the general direction of his table. 

“By friends, do you mean girlfriend?” she mewled, her hand reaching out to stroke at his curls. Drunk girls tended to be very touchy, at least in Reid’s experience, but this girl was not drunk, not in the slightest. So why was she touching him? Typically, he wouldn’t have allowed such a blatant breach of his personal privacy, but after the day he’s had, a little bit of warmth was alright. Elle’s gin and tonic was placed onto the counter.  _ Click. _

_ Margot’s hand was cold in his own, her fingertips tinged blue from the lack of blood flow. It made sense, considering the majority of her blood now coated his hands from his feeble attempt at maintaining pressure on the largest of her stab wounds.  _

_ But she was already dead, and he knew it just as well as anybody Coyne.  _

__ “N-no… I’m unbelievably single,” said Reid. The bartender set down Derek’s beer bottle on the counter.  _ Click.  _

_ Cool metal pushed into the nape of Reid’s neck. He had had enough guns pointed at him in the past few years to know what the butt of a gun felt like against his skin. He dropped his hold on Margot’s hand, her arm falling limp against the padded carpet, bouncing up and down until it settled.  _

_ The safety was clicked off.  _

_ Click.  _

_ “Drop the weapon Mr. Coyne,” Reid reasoned, half-assed. He hadn’t been good enough to save Margot. So how the Hell was he supposed to save himself?  _

“I’m here alone too. Wanna buy me a drink?” 

Reid had watched Morgan pick up enough girls to recognize when somebody was flirting with him. Maybe he didn’t have to be  _ the guy who killed Margot,  _ right now, he could be _ the guy who goes home with strangers from bars _ instead. Reid determined that if he could just pretend to be an amateur Derek Morgan for a few minutes, this girl, with a pretty smile and kind eyes, would like him. 

“Sure,” he answered, calling for the bartender. The girl asked for a sex on the beach, her intermittent giggles jingling around her. She was warm and bright and cheerful. 

“My name is Patrice by the way,” she giggled again, “Patrice Bisset,” the woman said. Reid could listen to her laugh all day long; it was like music to his ears. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he replied, scolding himself. Morgan had always told him to drop the “doctor” when introducing himself to people outside of work. Okay, so maybe he couldn’t be Pseudo Morgan, but he could be slightly less socially inept Spencer Reid. 

“Doctor? You’re like twenty,” Patrice said, her voice barely audible over the loud music. 

“I have three PHDs actually, I graduated high school young. And I, uh, I’m not twenty, I’m twenty-four.” 

She laughed at this, and he basked in the sunshine-esque glow of it. 

“I’m still working on a masters in education and I’m like, a year younger than you,” said Patrice. 

Her sex on the beach was ready. 

_ Click.  _

_ “Reid? Spencer where are you?”  _

_ Reid could hear Elle calling out for him, but the metal against his neck served as a constant reminder that if he spoke, he was as good as gone.  _

_ “Don’t you dare open your mouth,” Coyne murmured into his ear, his breath warm against his skin. But it was not the warmth he desired. Where the Hell is everybody?  _ _ The place was swarming with fed’s, yet not a single one had the sense to check the basement.  _

_ “Somebody check the basement,” he heard a voice yell, although he was unsure of who it was. Upon the lack of response, he yelled again, “Fine, I’ll do it.”  _

_ This time, Reid recognized the voice as Hotch’s.  _

_ Despite their personal disagreements, Reid could acknowledge that if anyone was going to get him out of this situation, it was Hotch.  _

_ “FBI!” _

“What kind of education are you specializing in?” Reid asked, smiling sheepishly. 

She smiled back at him, pushing her dark hair out of her face, into a ponytail. Her lips found their way to the straw, and took in a long sip of her drink. “I want to teach high school english. Odd choice, I know.” 

“No, no it’s not odd. Everyone has things they’re passionate about. You know, my mom actually teaches fifteenth century literature, or at least she used to.” 

“I see brains run in the family,” Patrice smiled. She opened her phone, and for a second, Reid was worried he’d lost her interest, but then she looked back up with the most precious grin on her face. “You know what, it’s getting late.” 

He frowned. 

“No-no, I was going to say, it’s getting late… Do you want to maybe go home? With me, I mean,” she stuttered, and it was different from anything else she had said tonight. It was almost as if she was concerned he would say no. 

The old Spencer Reid might’ve. But this was New Spencer. This was the Spencer that was fluent in reading social cues; he smiled when he was supposed to and laughed when Patrice laughed. At least he hoped he had been. Fuck. 

“Y-yeah, I would love to.” 

She took his hand and began to lead him towards the door. 

“Wait, I have to give these drinks to my friends first.” 

She nodded and picked up her own drink, following him down to the table in the corner of the bar. After a bout of incessant teasing and whistles from his drunk teammates, Patrice led him out, her warm hand in his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day!! I'm sorry for the lack of Hotch in this, but the next chapter will be centered around him. Also, don't worry about Patrice, she'll be gone soon:)


	6. Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like it when you stare.” 

**APPARENTLY,** the twenty-something bar hopper that Reid had just taken home with him was named Patrice. What the Hell kind of name is Patrice? 

Reid had known her for all but what, twenty minutes? And they were already holding hands and giggling like giddy teenagers. Some nagging part deep in Hotch’s brain told him that he was only upset, because first of all, he was extremely inebriated, and secondly, Hotch wanted to be the one holding Reid’s hand and laughing, and inevitably sleeping with him later that night. 

He downed another whiskey. 

Currently, the woman he used to love, and the man he maybe sort of loved, hated him. Haley was on the verge of kicking him out of the house, and Reid had told him to fuck himself about three hours prior. He had told himself that if he just came tonight, spent a little time with Reid, and drank a little whiskey, the two of them could patch up every little thing that had occurred since Monday morning. 

Seeing Reid prance off with  _ Patrice  _ had been like a slap to the face. 

What was he doing pining after a  _ kid _ when he had a beautiful wife and a newborn back home? Reid had no interest in him, and even if he did, what good would it do if the two of them got together? Aaron Hotchner was a marriage man. He did not lust after men half his age, who weighed one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. 

But Reid, _ Spencer,  _ was so much more than that. 

Spencer was beautiful; his lips were perfectly plump, and Hotch could just imagine slipping his thumb between them and watching his reaction. His eyes were so perfectly expressive, their wideness conveying every thought that passed through that pretty mind of his. 

And oh, God, that mind. His Spencer was extraordinarily brilliant. He had surpassed every single expectation that Hotch had set for him. Aside from his gun qualifications, of course. But what he lacked in coordination, he made up for in unadulterated intelligence. 

Hotch needed to see him; he needed to apologize for everything and shower him with praise and attention and all of the things that Spencer thrived on. 

But he was with  _ Patrice _ . 

_ Fuck it.  _

__ He grabbed his coat. 

I I I I I 

Patrice’s lips dragged up Reid’s neck, leaving pinkish lipstick stains in their wake. It was sticky and messy, and all Spencer could think was  _ this was a mistake _ . He didn’t want to be here, laying on this sweaty leather couch with the pretty girl from the bar on top of him. It was all just too much. 

He was Dr. Spencer Reid, not whatever false persona he had conjured up at the bar, and Dr. Spencer Reid did not makeout with strangers on couches. 

Red hot tears slid down the plane of skin between his eye and his hairline, falling onto the couch beneath him. Cold hands scoped around his torso, searching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it up ever so slightly. She looked up, searching for his approval to continue on. 

“Are you… crying?” her hand came up to cradle his face, the same way Hotch’s had only hours prior. He sniffled, his words getting caught in his throat. “Hey. H- Hey. It’s… it’s alright. Come on, Spence, it’s alright.” She pulled him into a sitting position and wiped his tears. 

He didn’t deserve this; she was so incredibly understanding and nurturing, and he didn’t deserve any of it. “I… ‘m sorry,” he whispered, wrapping his hands around her waist and resting his forehead in the crook of her neck. She was warm. “You don’t deserve this.” 

Patrice carded her dainty fingers through his hair, separating the tangles he had acquired from a day of hard work. She shushed him soothingly, “It’s alright.” 

The doorbell rang. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” 

Reid shook his head softly into her shoulder. 

“Hey, I’m just going to go see who it is. I’ll be right back,” said Patrice as she removed herself from the couch. He heard the pitter patter of her heels against his wooden flooring as she approached the front door. 

“Where is he?” 

“What?” 

“Now isn’t really a good time.” 

Hotch pushed past the woman, and into the living room. Spencer was laying down on the couch with his head in a pillow, sobs racking through his lithe frame. “Reid? Spencer, what’s wrong?” 

Hotch approached the couch haphazardly, Patrice trailing behind him. He sat down beside Spencer, rubbing his back up and down his back. Reid curled into his touch, basking in the scent of Hotch’s mahogany cologne, which overtook the subtle undertones of whiskey and sweat. 

Patrice felt as if she was intruding. She didn’t know who this man was, but Spencer seemed comfortable, and she was feeling anything but. 

“Spencer, I’ll see you some other time. My number’s on the kitchen table,” she announced. Before either man could respond, she was gone. 

Hotch hooked his arms underneath Spencer’s armpits and pulled him upright. “What’s wrong, Spence?” 

“I- I killed her,” more tears slipped down his face, “She’s gone and it’s my fault.” He collapsed into Hotch, his cheek pressed up against Hotch’s chest, wetting the fabric of his freshly pressed dress shirt. 

“This was not your fault, you hear me?” said Hotch, “This is not on you.” 

Spencer didn’t respond, and Hotch made no further attempts at soothing him. He didn’t need praise right now; he needed to be held, and Hotch knew that. 

They sat like that for hours, until eventually, Reid fell asleep, his head now resting in Hotch’s lap. 

Hotch could sit here forever, with this beautiful man drooling onto his dress pants. 

Reid and Haley were _incomparable_. 

Reid was warm and real and empathetic. Haley was cold and fake, a plastic shell of the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. 

Reid shifted so that his hands were settled between the side of his face and Hotch’s thigh. His skin was pale and nearly translucent, but rather than sickly, it just looked delicate. That was the thing about Spencer; somehow, his imperfections made him prettier. He was so fucking pretty, to Hotch anyway. 

“...Hotch?” he felt Spencer mumble into his leg, barely audible. “I can practically feel you staring.” 

Hotch laughed a bit, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like it when you stare.” 

Hotch shushed him softly, carding his fingers through Spencer’s hair to get him back to sleep. He should probably be at home, tucking his newborn into bed, not Spencer. He almost got up, preparing to leave and drive back home, but then Spencer shifted again until he was face to face with Hotch, lips parted ever so slightly, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

He’d so much rather be here, on Spencer’s sticky leather couch, than in bed with his wife. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. The next one should be out sometime this weekend :)


	7. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He had two options, and he couldn’t quite choose."

**SPENCER** woke up alone, surrounded in a heap of beige throw blankets that Hotch must've found in the linen closet. He smiled a bit at the thought of Hotch wandering aimlessly around his apartment as he slept. Quickly, his smile faded at the realization that Hotch had left his apartment at some point this morning without an explanation. 

_No_ , Spencer thought. _He wouldn't just leave._

He pulled himself out from the comforting warmth of the couch, pulling his glasses on and scanning the living room in search of a note, or even better, Hotch himself. 

He found nothing, but ultimately, wasn't dissuaded. For all he knew, Hotch could've left a note in the linen closet. 

Or he could've not left a note at all. 

Fifteen minutes had passed with no new discoveries, and the only place he hadn't checked was the kitchen. He shuffled down into the unchecked room, in pursuit of an explanation. Hotch absolutely would not leave without one. 

A blue post-it note rested invitingly atop the acrylic coated island, and he smiled, picking it up.

_(xxx-xxx-xxxx)_

_-Patrice Bisset :)_

“Oh,” he murmured to himself quietly. Maybe he didn’t know Hotch as well as he thought. 

I I I I I 

“Haley, how many times do I have to apologize?” Hotch placed his hand on Haley’s shoulder, a sad attempt at comforting her, that clearly wasn’t working. She was mad at him, and her anger was well within reason. He had been awol all night, and apparently, Jack had been vomiting for the extent of the hours in which he was gone. “My phone was off, I couldn’t hear you calling,” Hotch lied. He had heard her calling, but out of fear of disrupting the man resting in his lap, he had ignored it. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie. Where were you?” Haley questioned, her voice bordering on interrogating. 

“I already told you, I stayed late at the office,” Hotch lied again. He knew she would have a field day if she knew where he had really been; last year at a team outing, Haley had caught one of his many lingering glances at Reid, and made a big fuss out of it as soon as they got home. 

“Stop lying to me, Aaron. I called Jennifer last night to see when you would be coming home, and she told me you left as soon as the plane landed,” she crossed her arms, “You were with that skinny little bitch, weren’t you?” 

“Don’t call him that,” he defended. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Oh my god,” Haley exclaimed. “You’re cheating on me, aren’t you? Unbelievable.” 

Hotch sunk further into their living room couch, his hand’s coming to cover the expanse of his face, “It’s not like that, okay?” 

“No- no, first you’re sneaking off to see him at God knows when, every Monday morning, to what? _Teach him how to shoot?_ Was that a lie to?” she grabbed her purse off the coffee table, “I need to cool down, I’ll be back.” 

“Haley, I’m not cheating on you! Come back, we need to talk about this,” Hotch yelled into the empty living room, just in time to hear the garage door slam shut. 

He wasn’t cheating on Haley, at least not physically. But was that really any better? His heart swelled when Reid smiled, when he rambled on and on about the basics of obscure scientific fields. It had gotten so bad that he could barely stand to sleep in the same bed as Haley, opting to imagine the younger man in her place. 

The practical part of his brain told him that this was all just a big fluke. He didn’t actually love Reid, he just needed someone to deflect the pain of his failing marriage onto. Reid was a smart, cute, young guy, so it made sense that Hotch would project these _feelings_ onto him. 

Still, it felt wrong of Hotch to dumb Reid’s existance down into three simple words. Smart, cute, young. They were true, albeit, but Reid was not just some unattainable fantasy of a man. He was indescribable. He was a real, living breathing human being with emotions and dreams. Spencer was not just some hot twenty-something to occupy Hotch’s unspeakable dreams, and he had been treating him as one. 

Not once had he thought of the emotional repercussions that would spur from Hotch’s actions. He could not begin to imagine how Reid was feeling. 

Jack began to cry from the room over. 

He stood, making his way to the bedroom in search of his ill son. 

Things were still fixable, so long as the relationship between him and Reid went no further. Reid could move on, Hotch could repair the relationship with his wife, and his son wouldn’t grow up in a broken home. 

Or he could give in to his wants, his _needs,_ and have a full fledged, career and marriage destroying affair with his younger subordinate. 

He had two options, and he couldn’t quite choose. 

I I I I I 

“Spencer?” 

“Yeah, uh, I just wanted to apologize for last night, I’m _really_ sorry,” said Spencer meekly. Patrice had been entirely too kind to him the night prior. He had cried mid-makeout session for God's-sake. If that wasn’t grounds enough for a proper apology, he didn’t know what was. 

She laughed softly through the phone, the noise made grainy from distance, “It’s alright, I promise. I’ve totally been there before.”

He scoffed at this, “You’ve sobbed into a stranger’s shoulder during an unsuccessful attempt at a one night stand?

“Well not exactly, but I have fallen asleep during sex before and that’s arguably worse,” she giggled. He appreciated her effort at cheering him up, so much so that a whisper of a grin pulled at his lips. He was surprised he was laughing so soon after the disastrous morning he had had. 

“Sexsomnia is actually a type of parasomnia, in which the brain is in a state between asleep and awake during sexual activity, although I’m not entirely sure that’s what went down in your case.” 

Patrice didn’t respond right away, and Spencer worried that he had said the wrong thing. He seemed to be doing that an awful lot as of late. Just last night he had told Hotch he _enjoyed_ it when the man stared at him. Why the Hell had he done that? Maybe that’s why Hotch had left so soon. 

“You’re like, really smart, aren’t you?” asked Patrice. 

“I’m a certifiable genius, I guess,” he responded, immediately wishing he had kept his mouth shut. 

“ _I guess,”_ she played-mocked, “You’re adorable, Spencer.” 

He blushed furiously, and it felt like all the blood in his body had somehow been drained and transplanted into his cheeks. “I… um, I have to go, sorry.” 

“Oh… I-” 

Spencer hung up. 

As far as he was concerned, he now had two options. 

He could either recall Patrice, apologize _again,_ and ask her out for coffee, thus living a relatively normal life, at least for the next few weeks. Or, he could pursue a relationship with his older, married boss, who, based off their lack of communication this morning, was uninterested. 

He set his phone down on the counter top.

There was a third option as well; he could pick neither, and focus on himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This chapter is definitely not my favorite, but it was mostly set up for some angst in the next chapter. I'm thinking of changing the name of this fic from "4am" to "reckless" because I saw a fic with a really similar name not too long ago. Lmk what you think. Next chapter should be out soon.


	8. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think it's a great idea."

**AT** four in the morning on Monday, Hotch pulled into the parking lot outside of Quantico’s finest shooting range. He had patched things up with his wife, more or less. After she “cooled down,” he had assured her he was  _ not  _ cheating on her with “the skinny little bitch,” he worked with. Jack was feeling better, and everything was turning out alright. 

He hadn’t spoken to Reid since that night after the bar, two days prior, but he was sure everything would be fine after a simple apology. Perhaps that had been naive of him to think. 

He stood alone in the empty shooting range, his thoughts drowned out by the buzzing AC unit. By twenty minutes after four, Reid still hadn’t shown. Hotch had tried to tell himself that the man had probably just forgot to set his alarm, but it was a betrayal to his common sense. Reid didn’t forget anything. He was painstakingly punctual, unless something or someone was bothering him. 

In the two years Hotch had known Reid, he had been late but once. And even then, it was due to a late flight back from a visit to his ill mother in Las Vegas. His delayed appearance in the office had been followed by hours of his profuse apologies to both Hotch and Gideon. 

Now, Hotch was beginning to worry. 

He knew for a fact that Reid hadn’t visited his mother this weekend, so why was he late? Something had to be wrong-

_ Oh God, _ Hotch thought. When he had shown up to Reid’s apartment on Saturday night, he had been a complete mess. And then he just left, without so much as a text. 

Sure, if it had been Hotch in Reid’s shoes, he wouldn’t have been too upset, but Reid had an entirely different emotional makeup. He was sensitive and fragile, at least in the state Hotch had found him in that night. 

Hotch knew he messed up bad. 

I I I I I 

“I thought I told you not to break him,” JJ burst into Hotch’s office, her voice just hushed enough for the rest of the office not to understand. He opened his mouth to defend himself to her, but she cut him off, “No, stop. I don’t want to hear it. We have a case.” 

She turned around, swiftly exiting the room, the sound of her kitten heels becoming more and more distant as she made her way to the round table room. 

Ever since his entrance to the office this morning, Reid had been his typical sassy self, amplified by about ten. He wasn’t holding back his sarcastic quips and unintelligible mumbles under his breath, and for the first time, they were all directed at Hotch. Both of them knew it was unprofessional, but apparently, Reid didn’t care all that much. 

Hotch slammed his laptop shut, and grabbed the file that JJ had dropped onto his desk at some point during her fit. His eyes scanned the contents, taking in enough information to not make a fool of himself during the briefing. He was already off his game because of Reid, and he didn’t need to make it any worse. 

When he entered the round table room, all eyes were on him, tempting him to provide an explanation for Reid’s behaviour. The man sat crumpled into his chair, his elbows against the table, propping his head up. He too was looking up at Hotch, but rather than curiosity, the look in his eyes was something more akin to disdain. It made Hotch’s heart ache. 

He sat down across from Reid, a silent peace offering that Reid was quick to deny, turning his chair ever so slightly so that he was faced more towards Derek than Hotch. “Reid,” said Hotch, sounding slightly more desperate than he would have liked. Reid ignored him conspicuously. 

“Okay, I’ll bite. What the Hell happened?” Derek exclaimed, but was quickly cut off by JJ. 

“It doesn’t matter. We’re at work, so we’re going to keep things professional, right Hotch?” 

Hotch grimaced. “I’m not the one being-” 

“Tatum McAllistar, Harvey Lamb, and Otis Abel were all shot execution style on the twelfth day of the last three months outside of gay nightclubs. PD is speculating that there is a pattern between locations, although nothing has been confirmed. The first and third murders took place outside of Stereo 12, and the second took place outside of Hydrate Lounge…” she continued on, speaking of the crimes that had occured in great detail. 

Hotch zoned out, against his better judgement, catching snippets of victimolgy, (“The victims were gay, white men in their mid to late twenties.”) and timeline, (“The victims were accompanied by romantic interests, who left them alone to buy drinks or use the restroom.”)

And then, the briefing was over, and everyone was looking at him, waiting. 

“Uh, wheels up in 30.”

I I I I I 

“You must be Chief Foley. I’m Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone,” she motioned to the other agents with her hand, “This are Agents Greenaway, Gideon, and Morgan. That’s Dr. Spencer Reid, and this is our unit chief, Agent Hotchner.” 

The man nodded, welcoming them into the station kindly. He was a burly, middle aged man with slicked back greying hair and wrinkles embedded into his sun spotted skin. “As you all know, it’s already the 10th, which means we only have two days before the next murder, if all goes to plan,” he halted, before pointing to a door slightly to the left of the entrance, “This is where you guys will be working. It’s a pretty big room with a white board and some computers. There’s a coffee machine in the room over if you’d like. I can have Henney bring you all some coffee.” 

“Oh, we can get our own-” JJ was interrupted. 

“Nonsense, I insist,” he motioned for a man, presumably Henney, to go towards the room with the coffee machine. Henney understood the vague message, and rushed out of his seat. He looked towards the BAU team, awestruck. 

One by one, the team flooded into the room. Someone had very obviously cleaned it up, as it’s glossy wood tables and organized file boxes were a great contrast to the rest of the rather dingy station. Spencer couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. This police station felt safe, an uncommon feeling in the majority of these out-of-state cases. More often than not, the policemen were either jealous or spiteful of the agents. 

Before Reid even had a chance to set his messenger bag down, Henney was running into the room with six coffees placed haphazardly into two cardboard drink holders. “Hi.”

His voice was breathy and deep, a combination that Reid found incredibly attractive. Henney’s gaze brushed over each individual face, settling onto Reid’s. His long eyelashes fluttered, pattering against his prominent brow bone. He outstretched his hand towards Reid, a smile playing at his pinkened lips. “Winslow Henney, pleasure.” 

Much to the dismay of everyone else in the room, (especially Hotch), Reid shook the man's hand for a considerable amount of time, bordering on uncomfortably long to everyone aside from Henney and Reid. “Dr. Spencer Reid.” 

“Doctor?” 

“Yes. I-I have three doctorates.”

“Really? Wow. What in?”

“Okay, this isn’t social hour,” Hotch intervened, ignoring the agitation evident on both men’s faces. “JJ, there was a press leak. Could you try to get everything under control?” she nodded and went on her way. “Morgan, Greenaway, go interview the first victim’s husband. Call Garcia for the address. Gideon and I will brainstorm for the profile, Reid do the geographic profile. Please.”

“Saying please isn’t going to make me want to do it,” Reid deadpanned, walking over to the whiteboard in the front of the room. Henney’s eyes were glued to his ass as he walked, snapping back up as Reid turned. “Henney, do you have any push pins?” 

“Yeah, come with me. And Winslow is fine,” he assured. 

Reid nodded, following Winslow out of the room and into the hallway. The entire team could hear Reid droning on and on about the origin of the name Winslow, as the other man encouraged him to share more. 

“I think Reid might finally get some,” Elle said casually, before pulling Morgan out of the room by his arm. They had an interview to go to. 

“What’s going on between you and Reid,” asked Gideon. “And be honest.” 

Hotch dug into his briefcase, pulling out the file designated to their case. “We had a professional disagreement after our last case. Can we please just focus on the case.” 

Gideon nodded, pulling an office chair out and sitting down. 

I I I I I 

“So how do you make a geographic profile? It sounds complicated,” Winslow said, his tone bordering on something that Reid hoped was flirtatious. 

“It’s a bit difficult to explain.” Winslow gave him the prettiest puppy dog eyes, and it melted his heart. “But I can try, if you want.”

They stopped in front of a desk littered in office supplies. Winslow opened the third drawer from the top, immediately extracting a handful of push pins and placing them into Reid’s open palm. He practically shuddered at the contact. “I totally want.” 

Reid began an in depth explanation of the process of building a geographic profile, moving his hands crazily to get his point across. Winslow laughed, and for the first time, Reid felt as though he was being laughed with rather than at. 

By the time Reid had finished, they were both smiling like love struck teenagers in the doorway of the meeting room. “Can I help with the geographic profile? I’d love to learn from you.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” said Hotch from his position at the table. 

JJ, who was on hold with a crime journalist, pulled her phone away from her ear and smiled at Hotch. “I think it’s a great idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely unedited :/  
> I'll probably come back and edit it later. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out.


	9. Goodbye?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That sounds an awful lot like a goodbye."

**“I** think it would be smart to send some undercover agents in. The next murder is going to be tomorrow, and we have a possible location, victimology, and experienced agents. It’s the ideal circumstances for an undercover operation,” Chief Foley announced. The frustration from their lack of leads was getting to him, and it was deafeningly obvious. 

“All of the victims have been white guys in their mid-twenties,” JJ added, looking straight ahead at Reid, who was drinking a coffee and laughing with Winslow on the lounge couch. There was a noticeable amount of space kept between them, but their knees were pointed at each other’s, so close that if one of them shifted, they would touch. The tension between them was palpable. 

“Okay, so we have Reid, obviously, but we need someone else for him to come in with,” Elle added. 

“Henney can go. He went under deep cover a couple of years back, and he did very well,” said Chief Foley. Winslow’s ear perked up at the mention of his name. 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

“Maybe if you had been paying attention instead of chatting up Dr. Reid, you’d know what was going on.” 

“Hotch!” screeched Reid, bolting out of his seat. He grabbed Hotch by the arm and pulled him into the nearest room, which happened to be a storage closet. It was small and dark and clammy from the lack of ventilation. It smelled faintly of aging paper, which comforted Reid slightly. 

“Why are you being like this?” Reid whisper-yelled. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t like the way he looks at you.” 

“Why do you care how he looks at me?” 

Hotch planted his hands on either side of Reid’s face, pulling him closer until their lips met roughly. For a second, Reid kissed back, and it was the single most fulfilling moment in Hotch’s life. His lips were even better than Hotch had imagined, pillowy and a bit chapped from running his tongue over them over and over and over again. 

Then, Reid pulled away. 

“Because, I love you, Spencer.” 

Reid stepped back until his back was flat against the shelving unit behind him. “No. Stop- you don’t love me.” He ran his hands over his face, covering his eyes to avoid Hotch’s own. “You can’t do this to me.” 

“I love you,” Hotch persisted, sounding slightly more defeated. He wrapped his hands around Spencer's wrists, tightly. “Please-” 

“No- no. You don’t love me. You left. You just- you just left me.”

“Jack was sick and Haley was mad, and I'm so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he pleased, daring to step forward. He wrapped his arms around Spencer’s waist, and rather than going in for another kiss, he settled his chin in the crook of Reid’s neck, embracing him, more gently than before. “Please.” 

Reid reciprocated the hug, savouring the feeling of Hotch against him. This was all just too good to be true. I mean, what are the chances that Hotch actually loved him- was  _ in _ love with him?

He leaned in, whispering into Hotch's ear so softly that Hotch wasn’t even sure he had heard it, “You don’t love me.” 

And with that, Reid was gone. 

I I I I I

“Are you all set?” asked Hotch, testing the waters. Reid and Henney were set to go undercover in less than an hour, and everyone was running around to prepare. 

Reid gave him a closed smile, his lips pulling taut. Hotch could practically taste those lips on his. “I’m all set,” Reid responded, his words accompanied by a small thumbs up. He snapped his hand back down to his side, realizing how stupid that must have looked. 

“Can we just pretend none of this ever happened?” said Hotch. Truthfully, he didn’t  _ want _ to forget any of it. He cherished each and every moment the two of them had shared, no matter how big or small. Forgetting the feeling of Reid’s sleeping soundly in his lap, the feeling of their lips clashing together, would be like erasing some of the best moments of his adult life. He hadn’t felt this way about someone since high school. 

“I don’t want to. Do you?” 

It was not the rejection he had been expecting, if anything, Reid sounded… hopeful. 

“I wasn’t lying to you. I want you to know that,” Hotch said. He could live without Reid, so long as he knew he was loved. _Maybe._

“This feels an awful lot like a goodbye.”

“It’s not.”

“You promise?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

A sharp knock against the door frame grabbed their attention. It was Morgan, leaning into the room hesitantly. “Henney’s waiting up front. You ready, kid?” 

Reid nodded, pulling on his coat and heading through the door. He looked back to Hotch and smiled, this time with an added warmth. 

_ This was not goodbye,  _ Hotch reminded himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short, I'm so sorry.


	10. Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: minor mentions of suicide, moderate violence

**NEON** green lights striped the high points of Spencer’s face, forming bizarre abstract patterns against his skin. Aside from the outlandish green shapes, his face was encompassed entirely in the bar darkness of the hallway in which he currently resided. The bustle of the dance floor was loud and fuzzy in his ears, the entrance only a couple of feet away from the end of the hall. The song changed from a generic pop song to something slower, more sensuous. The lights changed with it, green to blue. 

Winslow had gone off to the bathroom, announcing it to the bar just loud enough for the passerby to overhear. It had been several minutes since then, and Reid was still waiting. It was horrible when you thought about it; Reid was essentially waiting to be attacked. 

He leaned against the sticky cement walls, trying not to think of the plethora of bacteria that were currently crawling into his slicked back hair. JJ and Elle had insisted on giving him a “makeover” in order for him to better fit in with the rest of the twenty-something crowd. 

Two separate blurs of lavender and black rushed past, all the way down at the end of the hall, opposite to the dance floor. He had only caught the figures through his peripheral vision, but something about it had just felt… off. 

The first thing Gideon had taught him was to always trust your gut. 

He made his way down the hallway, ignoring the hushed voices coming from the bathrooms on either side of him. They were making it awfully difficult to listen into the situation going on at the end of the hall. Judging off of the frantic rustling sounds at the end of the hall, his gut had been correct-

Wait. 

Winslow had been dressed in a lavender shirt earlier. 

Reid scrambled down the hallway, gun in hand. He had shot Philip Dowd by pure luck alone; it was wishful thinking to believe he could take down a potential unsub alone, especially considering he had most likely overpowered Winslow, who was both bigger and stronger than Reid. 

“Calm down, man. I’m just here with my boyfriend. We haven’t done anything, please just leave us alone,” he heard Winslow exclaim loudly, his voice booming through the empty hallway. It was incredibly unsettling to think that he had resorted to practically begging for his life. It meant the situation was worsening, and quick. “Woah-woah. Let’s put the gun down, man.” 

Reid clenched his eyes shut and made a sharp turn towards the voices. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best strategic move, but he was worried that if he saw what was going on, he would run. He clicked his safety off, opening his eyes just enough to see the two men look up at him from the floor, surprise etched into their faces. 

Automatically, Reid placed a name to his face. It was Ethan Carter Cain, one of their initial suspects who had been dismissed when they discovered his lack of a criminal record. Figures; he seemed extremely inclined towards committing crimes as of now, with his the butt of his gun pressing into Winslow’s neck. 

“Mr. Cain,” Reid began, desperately trying to remember the details of his personnel file.  _ Think, think, think _ . He skimmed over internal images of information-covered papers. 

Ethan Carter Cain: 28 years old, white male, speculated to be gay, or a least bisexual. His unconfirmed boyfriend had commited suicide, presumably on some day related to the number 12. They should have lucked into him further. 

“Did your boyfriend shoot himself in the head, sir?”

Ethan’s eyes filled with red hot anger, thick black eyebrows drawing together.  _ Great start, Spencer.  _ “Don’t you talk about him.” 

This was good; Reid had to provoke him just enough to take his attention off of Winslow and onto himself. Sure, he might get shot in the process, but at least he would’ve died trying. 

“Why’d he do it Ethan?” Reid asked, “Did he blame you? Do you blame yourself? Is that why you’ve killed three men?” 

“Stop!” Ethan yelled, “He loved me.” His grip on the gun tightened, and Winslow yelped as the gun was pushed deeper into his skin.

“I-I-I’m not so sure of that.” You don’t sound too sure of anything right now, Spencer. 

Now, the gun was pointed directly at Reid’s head. “Don’t you fucking say that to me right now. He loved me.  _ He loved me! _ ” He pulled his gun flat against his own chest, pounding it near his heart to gesticulate his point. 

At this point, tears were streaming down the man’s face. Sympathy crawled up Spencer’s spine, and it felt  _ so _ utterly vile. Here he was, emphasizing with the man who had pointed a gun at him mere seconds ago. He just looked so  _ broken _ . 

Winslow took his chance, lunging forward in order to disarm the man before him. Unfortunately, Ethan Carter Cain was a rather experienced killer, and thus, his reflexes were not to be underestimated. 

A shot rang out, and Officer Henley fell to the floor, blood spurting out of a wound that Reid could not locate. Reid aimed. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through. 

_ Easy. _

Mr. Cain fell to the floor beside Winslow, who now seemed to be choking on his own blood. Crimson liquid soaked into the lavender dress shirt that had been blemish free and freshly pressed only minutes prior. 

Reid flicked the Cain’s revolver out of his reach, and leaned over his body, checking for a pulse. He felt nothing at all, except for the subtle warmth emanating off his body, although that too was quickly fading. 

“Spencer?” 

“It looks like you’ve been shot with a 9mm in the lower torso,” Reid moved his hands to cover the open bullet wound on Winslow’s stomach, “You’ll be alright, I promise.” 

“They’ve probably heard the- the… gunshots by now, which means Hotch and everyone are on their way,” Reid added. 

Winslow chuckled, spitting up a bit of blood as he did so. Reid wiped his lips with the hem of the shirt. “I don’t think Agent Hotchner… likes me v-very much.” 

“Shhh… he does. I’m sure of it.” 

Winslow smiled, allowing himself to close his eyes, drifting off to sleep in Reid’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to make this a little less angsty, at least for the next few chapters:)


	11. Love You V. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He really needed to talk to Hotch."

**WARM** yellow can lights illuminated the cabin of the airplane, shining down on each individual seat like a spotlight. All but Morgan’s, who had turned his light off in favor of sleeping, headphones looped around his neck. JJ and Hotch read over files, scribbling notes every now and again. Gideon was recording his own notes in a moleskin journal that he had warned Reid never to touch (and he never had). Reid wasn’t entirely sure what Elle was doing, aside from staring blankly out the window, lost in her thoughts. He would talk to her later and make sure she was alright. 

He would talk to Hotch later as well. 

At just the thought of him, he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t much like feeling like this; all sappy and gross. But, Hotch had told him he  _ loved  _ him, and although he hadn’t believed it at first, Hotch had been insistent on it. Reid had never fallen in love, at least he thought. How are you supposed to know when you’re feeling something if you’ve never actually felt it before? It’s like trying to imagine a new color. 

His mother, as a literature professor, had always described love in the words of Tolstoy. 

_ “ _ _ He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking,”  _ she would read to him, on nights when she was lucid, and feeling especially romantic. Her words would float around his mind like driftwood down a gentle river, for hours at a time. He longed for someone to look at him as if he were the sun. 

Reid had always idolized Hotch, more than any mentor or faux father figure that he had come across in his twenty-four years of life. It was as if his entire world revolved around Hotch’s opinion of him, his intelligence and appearance. Hotch was his sun. Big and bright and extraordinary. 

His phone rang, buzzing shallowly against the polyester fabric of his pants pockets. Morgan jumped awake, hands immediately finding his own pocket, in search of his phone. When he discovered it was silent and still, he looked up in the direction of the noise, to find Reid mouthing an inaudible  _ sorry _ as he answered the call. He slammed his head back against the headrest in search of more sleep. 

“Winslow?” 

This time it was Hotch who looked up, locking eyes with the younger man before turning his head towards the window, so sharply that the kink in his neck flared with pain. His hand came up to rub at it. 

“Sorry I couldn’t stay at the hospital with you, our plane was leaving,” Reid said, his voice hushed so as not to disturb the other members of his team. Hotch had to strain to hear him. He knew it was wrong of him to eavesdrop, and even more wrong of him to be jealous of Officer Henney, but he did it anyway. 

He could see Reid smiling into his phone through the reflection in the window next to him. He couldn’t find it in him to be jealous when Reid’s smile was that beautiful. 

“Yeah- no, we’re almost home. Sorry the connections pretty broken- no,” he laughed softly. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

There was another moment of silence, in which Hotch noticed that he was not the only one staring. Gideon had looked up from his journal, and Elle was smirking, staring straight at Reid. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, waving at her dismissively. 

“Okay, bye. Feel better...yeah. Don’t forget to put Vitamin E oil on the scar. It’ll help. Bye,” he ended the call, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you all for eavesdropping, you can stop now.” 

Elle feigned hurt, “I thought we were done with the whole ‘Sassy Reid’ thing.”

“Apparently not,” he quipped, beforing adding on, “And I am not sassy.” 

Everyone on the plane giggled, even Gideon who had been fully immersed in his work. 

_ “What?”  _

I I I I I 

The entire team was back at the office, scribbling away on all of the paperwork that Hotch had ordered them to finish before leaving. He was a real stickler about debriefings, but Reid didn’t mind much. He was always the first to finish his paperwork, even before Elle, who was notorious for working her ass off to finish as quickly as possible, purely so she’d have more time to go out later that night. 

There was a rhyme and reason to these late nights after cases. First, Reid would finish his work, then begin to read whatever medical journal or obscure novel he could get his hands on; Hotch had told him many times before that he could leave as soon as he finished, but he would much rather stay in the presence of his coworkers than be trapped in his drafty apartment for hours on end. Elle on the other hand, would bounce out of her seat and exclaim, “Finished!” Just as soon, she would be on her way out the door, only to be seen the following morning, under eyes lined with the remnants of last night’s mascara. 

From then on, the order was always different, but one thing remained the same without fail. Hotch would stay locked in the confines of his office until early morning light began to leak in through the cracks in his blinds. Sometimes, he would pass out, head resting against his desk, and others, he would peel himself out of his office chair, and begin the trek home to his wife. 

On far more specific and infrequent occasions, he would find Reid at his desk, in a similar state as himself, and offer him a ride home. Reid always said yes. 

Today happened to be one of those days, although it was undoubtedly  _ not  _ a coincidence that Reid had waited at the office for three hours after the rest of his coworkers left. 

He  _ really  _ needed to talk to Hotch. 

“I thought you would never come out of there,” he attempted to joke, but the humour got caught like a frog in his throat, leaving only an empty accusation to hang in the air of the bullpen. 

“What do you mean?” Hotch asked defensively. The last thing he needed was another person thinking he valued work over personal relationships. 

“I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been waiting out here forever,” Reid said, accusingly. At some point, the conversation had taken a turn for the worse; it was tense and uncomfortable, but not necessarily an argument. It was obvious that the effects of Hotch’s earlier confession still remained. 

Hotch scoffed. “Well, you could've just come into my office.”

“I’m sorry. You always tell us not to.” 

It was true. Hotch was constantly reminding them not to bother him in the hours following a case. 

“ _ You  _ could have come in.” 

“ _ Hotch _ ,” Reid began, “You shouldn’t treat me different just because you..” he trailed off. 

“Love you?” 

“Yeah. That,” Reid confirmed. Silence hung between them for a long time, but all of the prior discomfort had melted away. Reid broke the silence, whispering so low it was almost inaudible, “I love you to, you know?” 

Hotch stepped into Reid’s personal space, placing his hands against the desk that Reid leaned against. He tapped his thumbs against the wood, fingertips lingering for a second too long whenever they came in contact with the outside of Reid’s thighs. “I didn’t know that,” he whispered, his breath tickling against Reid’s lips. Reid came up to plant a subtle kiss to the side of Hotch’s mouth, more so a brush of his lips than anything else. 

Hotch removed his hand from the desk, placing it underneath Reid’s chin and correcting his head’s position, ever so slightly to the right. Their lips met gently, since Hotch was too scared to overstep, Reid too insecure to pull the other deeper into it. 

“So pretty,” Hotch murmured against Reid’s skin.

“Come to my apartment?” Reid asked, already knowing the answer. 

“I can’t,” Hotch began, “You know that,” he finished, nudging Reid in the ribs to soften the blow. Every part of him ached to spend the night with Reid, but Haley was already semi-convinced he was cheating on her, and one more night spent out of their shared bed would surely be the end of their marriage.  _ You are cheating on her, _ Hotch reminded himself. 

“Okay,” said Reid, his voice muffled by the hem of his sleeve that he had begun to chew on nervously. Now that he had been reminded of Haley and Jack, he couldn’t bring himself to look Hotch in the eye. 

“Come on, Spence,” Hotch’s hand made its way into Reid’s hair, ruffling it with his fingertips. “Look at me.”

“I’m a  _ homewrecker _ , Hotch,” Reid whispered, his eyes filling with tears. 

Hotch hated seeing Reid like this, so vulnerable. Despite his sensitivity, he could always manage to keep his emotions under control, unless he was in severe emotional turmoil. He tried to focus Reid’s vision back on himself, going as far as to try tilting his chin back up to face him, but Reid just averted his eyes. 

“Look at me, Spence.” 

Reid shook his head frantically, finally allowing his tears to drop. 

“You have a baby,” Reid choked out, “I’m a bad person.” 

“No- no. You aren’t a bad person. Just-,” He grabbed the back of Reid’s head, angling his field of vision, essentially giving him no choice but to look at him, “Just look at me.”

Reid looked so fragile like this; his eyes were glazed over like that of a puppy dog’s, hair mussed, and cheeks tracked with tears. It was heartbreaking. Hotch didn’t think he could handle one more minute of it. 

“I’ll leave Haley.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I didn't make it clear in the last chapter, but Winslow is totally fine (the bullet barely hit him). He might come back eventually, but I haven't decided yet. I'm gonna try to get another chapter out in the next few days.


	12. Love You V. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't love her like I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, it's late and I don't feel like editing, so just ignore any errors. I'll probably come back to edit later.

**“WHAT?”** Reid exclaimed. Was that supposed to make him feel reassured? He was tearing apart the family that Haley Hotchner had been building since high school, bit by bit. This had all started as an unrequited crush. How had he let it get this far?

“I’ll leave Haley. _For you_ ,” Hotch repeated, “I don’t love her like I love you.” 

“This is insane, Hotch,” Reid said, looking up at Hotch for some sign he was being insincere. He felt as if at any moment, Morgan and Garcia would pop out with a video camera yelling, “Gotcha!” 

This had to be some cruel joke. 

“You can’t do this to her,” Reid whispered, “It’s not fair to either of us.”

“It’s not fair of you to ask me to stay in a marriage with someone I’m not in love with anymore. It’s unfair to her too.” 

Reid swallowed the lump in his throat before turning away from Hotch. The man was momentarily confused, before realizing that Reid was grabbing his coat off the back of his swivel chair. “Drive me home. We can talk about this some other time.” 

“Spencer-” 

“Hotch, it’s late. You need to get home to your _wife_.”

Hotch accepted defeat, grabbing Reid by the hand, intertwining it with his own as he began to walk in the direction of the elevators. He ran his thumb over the palm of Reid’s hand, taking note of the small creases in his skin. It was perfectly smooth, a contrast to Hotch’s own calloused hands, a byproduct of years of gun use. In ten years, he was sure that Reid’s hands would feel similar to his own. 

“You know, we never made up for that shooting practice you missed last week,” Hotch attempted to break the tension. He wouldn’t mind another two hours of this closeness with Reid, even if it was at four in the morning. 

“We only practice on Mondays. It’s Wednesday,” Reid spoke without any spite behind his words. He was simply stating inarguable facts. 

“We don’t have to only practice on Mondays.” Hotch slipped his hand out from Reid’s grasp and placed it on the small of his back, threatening to dip lower with the bounce of each step they took. They reached the elevator, and Reid pressed the button with a down arrow on it, leaning forward only with his upper torso, so as to maintain the contact with Hotch’s hand. “We could practice every day if you want,” he added with a grin. 

“There’s no way I’m waking up that early every day.” 

I I I I I 

Moonlight shined down into the interior of Hotch’s cars through the windows. The sky wasn’t particularly clear tonight; hazy grey clouds overlaid the midnight black sky, obscuring the majority of the stars from Reid’s vision. If he wasn’t so tired, he could probably identify each visible star, and relay them all to Hotch, although he wasn’t sure how much Hotch would appreciate that. 

“I’m tired,” Reid announced, his forehead pressed into the cool glass of the car window. It soothed his feverish skin. His eyes wandered around, taking in the passing landscape. It was a familiar sight. Every chance he got, Reid would accept ride’s home from Hotch, and they always took the same route. 

Even if he hadn’t had an eidetic memory, he could tell you that in about thirty seconds, his apartment complex would be coming up on the right. 

“You’ll be home soon.” 

Reid uncurled himself from his position, head turning to face Hotch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come up?” Reid asked. He was too tired to do anything physical, but he would be more than happy to fall asleep in Hotch’s arms. Even if it meant waking up alone. 

As an adequate profiler, Reid knew exactly which expressions and tones of voice had the greatest effect on Hotch. He batted his eyelashes, leaning over the center console to close the gap between them. He had never used _this_ to his advantage before, but based on the way his eyes softened as soon as he caught wind of the implications of Reid’s words, this wouldn’t be the last time. He knew he could get whatever he wanted from the man, and it was a nice feeling. 

“Only for a little,” Hotch sighed. He knew that as soon as he stepped foot into Reid’s apartment, he would have no control over his actions. He had always had a bit of a problem with maintaining control over his life, but for the first time in a while, he felt as if control wasn’t necessary. Every minute spent with Reid seemed to be packed full of firsts. It was exhilarating. 

“I’m okay with a little.” 

I I I I I 

Reid unlocked his apartment with a key from his messenger bag, pulling the door open and allowing space for both himself and Hotch to enter. He could tell that Hotch was profiling his apartment from the moment he stepped in, but he supposed he couldn’t be too upset about it considering what he had done just a few minutes prior. 

“This is very… you,” Hotch said, referring to the clutter of books across the floor and the collection of dust across the top of all the furniture. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing… I love it. I love you,” Hotch responded. He was free to say the words now that they were out in the open, and he looked forward to repeating them every chance he got. He tried not to be too disheartened by Reid’s lack of response. He had only said it back once, but it was enough. _More than enough._

“I know I sort of implied that we would…” he searched for the right words, “Do _stuff._ But I’m really tired. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not here just for sex. I’m here because I-”

“Love you, yeah, I know,” Reid joked. He wrapped his hands around the fabric of Hotch’s jacket, pulling it off in one swift move. “Can we just go to bed? You can before I wake up, I just really want to fall asleep next to you. Just this once.” 

Hotch nodded, and allowed himself to be led to Reid’s bedroom. It was the first time he had been in there, and he hoped with every fiber of his being that it won’t be the last. 

Reid’s bed was a queen, as opposed to the California king that Haley had insisted on when they moved into their new house. Despite its relatively large size, the bedroom still felt cramped, overwhelmed by the many bookshelves spread out across the room. 

He sat down on the bed. Reid had cheap sheets. He could fix that. Reid’s birthday was coming up. Was it to forward to buy him bedsheets? 

“What are you thinking about?” Reid asked, crawling into Hotch’s lap, straddling him with his thighs on either side of Hotch’s own. He hooked his arms around Hotch’s neck, rubbing at the skin there tenderly. 

“You.” 

Reid leaned down, kissing him. This time, it was anything but shy. 

“I thought you were tired.” 

“I am,” Reid confirmed, between pecks on the other man’s lips. 

“Come on, let’s go to sleep,” Hotch whispered against Reid’s chin. He unbuttoned Reid’s dress shirt, top to bottom, “You can’t sleep with this thing on.”

“You and I both know that that’s just an excuse to get me half naked.”

Hotch, at a loss for words, just nodded with his mouth hanging open stupidly. He hadn’t been expecting Reid to be so bold. 

Reid’s hands mirrored his own, making their way to the middle of Hotch’s chest to remove the shirt. When they had both finished, Hotch stood, pulling Reid up with him. He reached at his own waist band, and stripped down to his boxers. 

Reid stepped out, returning in a pair of flannel pajama pants. Hotch layed back down on the bed, opening his arms as an invitation. “Come here, Spence.” 

Reid settled into Hotch’s arms, savouring the warmth that emanated off of Hotch’s body. He had never shared this bed with anyone else, and he was glad that Hotch was the first. He turned into Hotch’s chest, face snug against the crook of his neck. “I love you.” 

Hotch smiled. 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. Comments are much appreciated :)


	13. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe he was just kidding himself."

When Reid woke up, he was still wrapped up in Hotch’s arms. 

It surprised him more than he would like to admit; not that he had a low opinion of Hotch’s moral code or anything, he just wasn’t expecting… this. Hotch seemed the type to leave in the early hours of the morning, before anyone had a chance to see them together. 

That was the funny thing about all of this. They loved each other dearly, but nobody could ever see them together, even if this all turned out okay. Broadcasting their relationship would be dangerous to both their careers, and themselves. The people that mattered to them could never, ever know. 

Haley couldn’t know either. 

Spencer didn’t think he would be able to handle it if she did. Based on what little he had been told by Hotch about the state of their marriage, Haley was already suspicious of his infidelity. 

He supposed that would give Hotch an out, a reason behind their impending divorce. He could tell her he had found someone else, someone who made him happier than she ever had. Assuming that was the truth, of course. I mean, who would she be to stand in the way of love? 

_ She would be Spencer.  _

Because Spencer was the one tearing up her long term marriage, from the inside out. Spencer was the one making out with her husband in the middle of the bullpen. Spencer was the one standing in the way of their love. 

Spencer was the bad guy here, and no amount of sugar coating the situation with saccharine “ _ I love you’s,”  _ whispered against heated skin would ever change that. 

What the Hell was he doing here, with a married man sleeping besides him? 

He sat up, pulling the scratchy bedsheets taut across his stomach. Drawing his legs up into his chest, crumbling in on himself, he was riddled with guilt. This was so, so wrong. He  _ shouldn't _ be here. 

Quickly and quietly, he unraveled himself from the mess of bedsheets and blankets that encompassed him. His feet hit the cold wood floor with a dull thud, and he found himself peaking over his shoulder at the sleeping form next to him, making sure Hotch hadn’t woken up. He couldn’t be awake for this; Reid couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he woke up to an empty apartment with no explanation, so he’d have to be gone long before then. 

_ No _ , he couldn’t do that to him. Hotch had done that to him last week, and it had  _ hurt _ . It hadn’t been a dull ache either, it was blaring, burning pain deep in the pit of his stomach. Doing that to Hotch would be unfair, just as it had been unfair when the man had done it to him. 

He wasn’t doing this to  _ get back _ at Hotch, he was doing this so as not to hurt Haley more than he already had. 

His hands clambered to the bedside table as if on autopilot, searching for the pad of paper he knew was there. He tried to grab a hold of the pad, but his hands were shaking badly. So he tried to push it over to the edge of the table and drop it into his hands, but the shaking just… wouldn’t stop. So he slid it across the table, inch by inch, drawing close to the edge until...

The paper hit the floor. Loudly. Louder than the thud of his feet and the rustling of the sheets against his body. 

“Spence?” Hotch murmured, his face hanging off the edge of a pillow. His eyes were still closed, but confusion was apparent in his voice. Reid couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked. The calm before the storm. 

Reid jumped up, hitting his shaking hands against the headboard with a weak yelp. 

He ran to the corner of the room, towards the rocking chair where he could see a light blue button up hanging off the arm of the chair. He lunged forward, grabbing it with one fell swoop, and pulling it onto his body. By now, Hotch had opened his eyes, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of amusement and uncertainty. “Spencer? What’s going on?” 

“I- I… uh,” he paused, running his hand across his forehead, wiping off nonexistent sweat, “I’m sorry.” 

“Reid?”

Hotch was pulling himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes roughly as he stood. He walked over towards Spencer, reaching out to enclose the smaller man in his arms. “Spencer, calm down.” Reid jerked out of his arms, continuing to button up his shirt, rather unsuccessfully. His chest heaved rashly, up and down. “Spencer- you need to breathe. Hey-” Hotch gripped Reid’s wrists with his hands, effectively immobilizing him. “You’re hyperventilating. Breathe. Come on, Spence.” 

“I think ‘m having… panic attack, “ Reid gasped, melting into Hotch. He allowed himself to rest the side of his face against Hotch’s torso, still unable to breathe properly. Tears were slipping down the slope of his cheeks, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he had started crying, but he had, and now Hotch was seeing him like he had hoped he never would. Vulnerable and incoherent. 

Just another mess for him to clean up. 

“Breathe in. One… two… three. Out. One… two… three,” Hotch said, voice muffled in Reid’s ringing ears. Still, he complied, inhaling and exhaling with Hotch’s directions. They repeated the process several times, and the longer it went on, the more stupid Reid felt. 

He nestled his face into the hollow point in Hotch’s shoulder, aiming to hide the heated blush he had acquired. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Hotch smoothed over the back of Reid’s hair with his fingertips, twisting and tugging on the knots that he encountered. It felt natural to do so, and Reid seemed to be enjoying it, based on the way he leaned into the touch. 

“Why are you sorry?”

“I was going to leave you here.” 

“What?” Hotch questioned, removing the hand from Reid’s hair, but not pulling away all together. “Why would you do that?” he asked, louder this time… angrier. 

It felt like this entire little  _ fantasy  _ world they had created was imploding. It was foolish of them to think that they could lock themselves in the safety of Reid’s apartment, without ever really thinking it through. They hadn’t taken into account the repercussions of their actions. This wasn’t something you could decide on at the drop of a hat; you don’t just leave your wife for a two day affair. 

“You can’t leave Haley,” Reid said, looking up at the man hesitantly, “I- I love you, but you can’t leave her  _ for me _ .” 

“Why are you doing this right now?” he scoffed, before continuing on, “Listen, I’m leaving Haley, with or without you.  _ I don’t need you  _ for this,” Hotch stated, matter-of-factly. 

_ I don’t need you.  _

The words echoed around his mind, bouncing around the inside of his head with a throbbing pain. Nobody ever seemed to need Spencer Reid. 

Sometimes they needed Dr. Reid, sure. His meaningless facts broke cases everyone in while, and his endless spew of statistics were good at making people laugh after hard cases. But he wasn’t absolutely necessary. They could make do without him. 

But nobody would ever need Spencer like he needed Hotch. 

Spencer couldn’t  _ breathe _ without Hotch. He was the center of his universe, and without him, it felt like his entire world would shrivel up and die like a dehydrated plant. Spencer  _ needed _ him to live, and for a minute, he thought Hotch had felt the same. Maybe he was just kidding himself. 

“Could you please just… leave.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry :)  
> lmk what you think


	14. A Long Time Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is wrong with you, Hotch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of feel like this chapter makes no sense... so sorry

_ I’m not mad.  _

Those three words had been echoing throughout Hotch’s mind nonstop, as he drove around Reid’s block for the eighth time that morning. In twenty minutes, it might be considered socially acceptable for Hotch to show up at work, despite the early time, but for now he continued down the familiar paved streets that bordered Reid’s apartment complex. 

He was really trying not to be upset with Reid-- logically, he could determine that the younger man’s outburst this morning had been a combination of trust issues and guilt surrounding their rather… complicated relationship. Deep down, he knew that Reid wasn’t to blame for their argument; it was his fault for taking advantage of the kid’s schoolyard crush and exploiting it for his own self interest. It was selfish of him, and cruel to both Reid and Haley. 

There was only one possible way of solving all of his issues. 

He glanced down at his expensive watch, noting the cloudy glass and dull silver detailing. Was twenty minutes enough time to leave your wife? Yes, Hotch decided, it is. 

I I I I I 

“Reid, I’d like to see you in my office,” Hotch stated, tapping his fingers against Reid’s desk as he passed by, moving swiftly so as to avoid long-lasting eye contact. He was gone before Reid had the chance to object, a calculated choice. 

Reid fumed silently in his seat, procrastinating the inevitable conversation in his Hotch’s office. JJ had already reminded him of Hotch’s request twice now, with this knowing look in her eyes that Reid just… could not stand. At one point, her mischievous staring became more unbearable than speaking with Hotch, so he jumped out of his seat, leisurely walking up the stairs and to the office. 

He knocked on the door, knowing it was pointless, and that Hotch was already expecting him and had been for nearly fifteen minutes. 

“Come in, Reid.” 

The use of his given name was not unexpected, given that they were in a professional setting, but it stung nonetheless. He didn’t know why it stung, since he had already mentally broken up with Hotch, but it did, and he sort of hated himself for it.  _ God, _ even when he wasn’t trying to sleep with Hotch, the man still controlled his emotions. 

“I already turned in my debriefing paperwork, and everything else that could possibly be due, so why am I in here?” Reid asked, thoroughly annoyed, and making no attempt to disguise it. 

“I left Haley.” 

Reid’s felt as if the floor was falling out from under him. He had just  _ destroyed  _ a perfectly happy family. Everything had been fine and dandy before Reid came in with his accidental flirtations and puppy dog eyes and took every last thing from Hotch. 

First he had taken his relationship with his wife and child, (arguably the things he valued most) and then he took his sanity.  _ Obviously _ . Because what sane adult would leave their wife for someone they’d barely gotten to second base with?

“ _ What is wrong with you, Hotch? _ ” Reid scoffed, “I mean  _ come on _ . You need to call Haley and tell her you were… high or drunk- or  _ something _ because seriously, what is wrong with you?” At this, Hotch opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but Reid outstretched his pointer finger to silence him, “Haley is a beautiful, kind woman. You married her for a reason. And if you were expecting me to just- just jump in your arms and ride happily into the sunset with you, you’re more naive than I thought. Because we are  _ over _ , and I thought I made that clear.” 

“Are you done?” Hotch asked, waiting for Reid to nod before he continued, “I told you earlier that I was doing this with or without you. The only reason I’m telling you this is because I thought you deserved to know. I think the reason you tried to run this morning is because you felt guilty, and I’m just trying to get it through your head that this isn’t your fault.” 

Reid paused contemplatively, letting the words run around his head. It was like the last piece of a puzzle had been set into place and everything just… clicked. Maybe Hotch wasn’t the bad person he had been making him out to be.  _ Maybe _ . 

“Were you really going to leave her before… everything?” Reid asked, his tone softening as Hotch drew closer to him. He hated himself for giving in so easily. Hotch was immoral. He was a cheater and a manipulator, but something about him was so… warm and giving. Like he would give Reid the world on a silver platter if he just asked. 

“It’s been a long time coming, Reid. A  _ long _ time,” Hotch said, pulling away from Reid, enjoying the hum of dissatisfaction that came from him. He moved over to the window, pulling the blinds shut to block out JJ’s penetrating gaze from the bullpen. 

She just couldn’t help herself, could she? 

“I love you,” Reid mumbled, silently thanking Hotch for this new found privacy, “And I’m sorry for trying to leave this morning.” He pressed himself against Hotch, sinking his chin into Hotch’s clavicle earnestly. He really was sorry, at least now that he knew that he wasn’t, in fact, a homewrecker. Technically. 

“I’m sorry too,” Hotch whispered into Reid’s ear, pressing a kiss to the lobe. He didn’t much appreciate the vagueness of Hotch’s statement, but he’d take it for now. An apology was an apology. “Haley made it very clear that I wasn’t going to be sleeping in the same house as her tonight, and I don’t really have anywhere to go, so…” he trailed off, choosing to continue planting small kisses to Reid’s jawline instead. 

Was that what this was? Was Hotch just patching things up so he’d have a place to stay tonight? Was it only convenient to love Reid when he _ needed _ something? Reid had wanted to feel needed, but not like this. 

Because now, he just felt like a last resort. 

Nonetheless, he offered him a place to stay, because it was Hotch, and he loved him. 

Maybe somewhere along the line, Reid had gotten it all wrong;  _ he  _ would give the world to Hotch, not the other way around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it might seem like I sort of glossed over their argument in the last chapter, but dw it'll come back ;)  
> Happy Holidays!!! I hope you all had good Christmas's (If you celebrate)  
> (Also, the end of this chapter was from Spencer's point of view, so keep in mind that his insecurities make him an unreliable narrator, and you should take the things he thinks with a grain of salt.)


	15. Calm Before the Storm V. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No- that’s not what I mean. I liked it a lot. Too much.”

**“IT’S** not much, but I think you can make do,” Reid said, presenting the couch that Hotch would be sleeping on for the next few nights to him. He wasn’t sure if Hotch expected to sleep in the same bed as him. He didn’t know if he himself was expecting it either. 

To be honest, he was very confused. Reid wasn’t great at reading social cues, so he couldn’t tell if the raised eyebrows that adorned Hotch’s face were meant as disapproval of the size and condition of his rather… dingy couch, or evidence that he had failed to correctly interpret the situation. 

Maybe Hotch had hoped for domesticity by staying over at Reid’s apartment temporarily. He hoped not, because an abundance of night’s spent in a shared bed and chocolate chip waffles in the morning were not something he thought he could provide. He was not a good chef, despite his degree in chemistry, and some nights he preferred isolation to company. Realistically, the only thing Reid really had to offer was this... stupid couch. 

“Nonsense. It’s… nice,” said Hotch, patting the arm of the chair, cringing slightly at the sticky pool of coffee his hand had landed on, “I just- nevermind.” He forced himself to sit down on the couch, sinking into the cracked leather. 

Reid didn’t ask him to elaborate. He already knew what he would say, given the chance. 

_ “I just thought we’d be sleeping in the same bed from now on.”  _

Not that Reid was opposed to the idea completely, he just would like to be given the choice. If he told Hotch that he could sleep in his bedroom tonight, he’d be under the impression that he could sleep in Reid’s bed _ every  _ night, and that just would not do. So for now, the grimy brown couch would have to do. 

“So…” Reid trailed off, choosing to give Hotch a tight lipped grin instead of finishing his sentence. For the first time in a while, he couldn’t think of anything to say. 

Suddenly, Hotch grabbed Reid by the wrist and wordlessly pulled him onto the couch, maneuvering Reid’s body until he was straddling his lap. He brought his fingertips to Reid’s lips, tracing over his prominent cupid’s bow twice before moving elsewhere. His large hands cupped Reid’s cheekbone tenderly. 

“So beautiful,” he breathed, the praise slipping through his lips before he could stop it. At some point in the last few weeks, complementing Reid had become second nature. Not that either of them minded all that much. 

Reid hummed his dismissal as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Hotch’s lips. He hooked his thin arms along the back of the other man’s neck, clasping his hands together daintily. He tried to pull away after a few moments, but Hotch bit at his bottom lip, pulling him back in. 

The kiss grew heated quickly, and Reid found himself reciting pi internally to help… decompress. Hotch snuck his hands underneath Reid’s shirt, and suddenly there were fingerw roaming the skin on his abdomen, stroking at hints of muscle. Reid melted into the touch, trailing his own hands down Hotch’s biceps. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the overwhelming sensation of Hotch’s teeth sinking into his neck. The utmost part of his neck, breeching on jawline territory. Wait-

“No...mmm, you can’t leave a… mark… there. The team-” he moaned loudly as Hotch reached a particularly sensitive spot, letting his head fall to the side, and unintentionally giving Hotch easier access to his neck. Hotch lifted his lips off of his skin, ignoring the needy whine that Reid let out. 

“Don’t talk about the team right now, sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart?” Reid questioned. He had never pegged Hotch as the type for pet names.

Hotch gripped the back of Reid’s head, pulling him backwards by his long hair, not applying enough pressure to really hurt. He shifted uncomfortably in Hotch’s lap, not from the pain or any actual discomfort, rather from just how much he was enjoying the way Hotch was pulling his hair right now. 

“Yes, _ sweetheart _ ,” Hotch defended, his cheeks blushing ever so slightly. Reid didn’t think he’d even have noticed had he not been  _ so _ close to him. He had _actually_ embarrassed him. Reid had thought that to be impossible. But The Aaron Hotchner was sitting underneath himself with rosy cheeks and averted eyes. “Sorry,” he said, hiding his hurt expression with a discreetly placed kiss to Reid’s earlobe. 

“I was kidding,” said Reid, “Sweetheart is nice. No one’s ever called me that before.” 

“You don’t have to lie, Spencer. I can tell it made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.” 

“That wasn’t what made me uncomfortable,” Reid announced, pulling at the bottom of Hotch’s shirt. 

All of Hotch’s movement seized at this, and he pulled back until his shoulders were flush with the back of Reid’s couch. “Do you want me to stop?” He had already begun to untangle himself from Reid, drawing his arms back to his side. 

“What- no. I meant that… you know....” Hotch shook his head, utterly lost, “The... hair pulling.” 

“You don’t like it?” Hotch asked, venturing back into Reid’s personal space with his hands firmly pressed to Reid’s hips. 

“No- that’s not what I mean. I liked it _a lot_. Too much.” 

“Masochist.” 

Reid glared at him playfully, only closing his eyes when Hotch leaned in for another kiss. 

“I love you,” Reid muttered, beginning to fumble around with the upper buttons on Hotch’s dress shirt. 

Hotch gripped Reid’s hair, pulling harder this time. “I love you too, _my little masochist_.”

Reid scoffed, “Stop calling me that.” 

_“Never._ ”

Reid slowed down his unbuttoning, looking the older man right in the eye. “You can sleep in my bed tonight. If you want.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay attention to the chapter title... anyways, I thought you all deserved some nice fluff as a holiday gift or something. Thanks for reading!!


	16. Calm Before the Storm V. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Looking back, maybe that had been a foolish way of thinking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unedited, so sorry in advance. I just do not have the patience right now.

**SPENCER** had expected to wake up alone in his bed, wrapped in blankets instead of arms, with the heating unit blowing air into his skin, instead of Hotch’s warm breath against his cheek. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled his lips taut at the sensation of being loved. 

He had never woken up next to someone before. 

Last night was only the second time he’d been with a man like that in all of his twenty four years of life, his third time having sex overall. His first time had been an awkward fumbling mess. Sex for the sake of sex, not at all comparable to last nights endeavors. 

A litany of purplish bruises littered his collarbone, peeking up past where his dress shirts would ever reach. He supposed he could dig out the old beige turtleneck from the very back of his closet, although he wasn’t sure which would be worse. Being teased by Morgan because of a hickey, or being teased due to his excessively thin stature, which was especially apparent in this particular shirt. Also at the hands of Morgan, of course. 

He pressed a feather light touch across a bruise located in the center of his stomach, near his naval. It stung wonderfully, and he revelled in the fact that at some point in the day, he might stand to fast or sit in just the wrong way and be reminded of the mark. Hotch’s mark. 

The man next to him shifted, drawing nearer to Reid’s still form. He desperately needed to brush his teeth, but was too scared of waking him whilst exiting the bed. 

As he lay here, in the same bed where nightmares had once plagued his nights, where he had cried himself to sleep on countless occasions, he felt utterly content. Hotch’s slow, deep breaths were a constant reminder that he was safe. He was okay, as long as Hotch was right here next to him. 

The time was a quarter till seven, meaning they had about an hour before they were due at work. A full hour of safety. A full hour with no guns or serial killers, just morning showers and warm embraces. Complete and utter perfection. 

Spencer rested his head against Hotch’s sternum, planting soft kisses across the bone. He dragged upwards, applying just enough pressure to wake Hotch up, peacefully. He pulled his lips away, hovering over skin, “Wake up, Aaron.” 

He winced. The name left a sour aftertaste in his mouth. He had been calling him Hotch for so long that Aaron just felt… unnatural and uncomfortable. 

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, staring down at Reid through half lidded eyes, intently. Had last night been too much? Was Spencer having regrets?

Reid pressed another kiss, moving up to his neck this time, “Nothing, it just feels weird calling you anything other than Hotch.” 

_“Oh.”_

Reid pulled back, processing the disappointment evident in Hotch’s tone of voice. “I can call you... Aaron, if you’d really like.” 

Hotch brought his left hand up to the other’s jaw, lifting his chin ever so slightly. “You can call me anything you want. I just love hearing your voice.” Reid could call him Agent Hotcner for all he cared, so long as he was referring to him at all. “Good morning, Spence.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it?” 

Hotch nodded in agreeance, running his free hand up and down the length of Reid’s torso, stopping at the hand shaped bruises across his hips. “You look so beautiful like this.” Blood rushed to Reid’s cheeks, tinting his skin a dusty pink. “So, so beautiful.” 

Reid chose to ignore the sentiment, verbally at least, showing his gratitude in the form of open mouthed kisses against Hotch’s lips. “We… have an hour,” he moaned softly, pulling himself into Hotch’s lap. 

Hotch shook his head, careful not to pull away from Reid’s lips in the process, though that was ruined when he was pushed off anyways. “Why not?” Reid whined. “I can do that thing with my tongue again,” he proposed. 

“We have _less_ than an hour to shower, get dressed, and drive to work. You can do that tongue thing later, I assure you.” 

“I take it back.” 

“Take what back?” 

“This is totally _not_ a good morning,” Reid replied smugly. Hotch shot him the glare that was usually reserved for interrogations. It was… unsettling to say the least. “Will you at least shower with me?” 

“That I can do, yes.” He sat up and outstretched his hand invitingly. Reid accepted it into his own, and was pulled up out of bed by the older man. In a matter of seconds, he was tossed over Hotch’s shoulder, legs limp across the man's back, face pressed up into Hotch’s stomach. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he inquired, voice muffled against the man’s bare abdomen. 

“Hand to hand.” 

I I I I I

Later in the day, well after the two of them had arrived at work, JJ was knocking on Hotch’s door, not waiting for a confirmation before entering the room. She twisted the blinds shut one-handedly, as she walked in. She hated the feeling of being watched, especially through this window. Elle and Morgan had the tendency to monitor Hotch’s meetings through it. Their only entertainment throughout the day was guessing the words spoken between Hotch and his guest. 

“You two seem to be getting along,” she began, rather bluntly. He didn’t need to ask who she was referring to. “If I were you I might try hiding it a little bit better. You’re wearing Reid’s tie. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” 

Hotch nodded, leaning back in his chair, motioning for her to take a seat as he did so. “Duly noted. Is that all?” 

“No.” She scratched her chin with lavender painted nails, searching for the right words to properly get her point across. “You said you weren’t going to hurt him,” said JJ. This confused Hotch greatly; Spencer seemed happy. He had been content earlier this morning, making mediocre coffee with Hotch’s dress shirt wrapped around his body, dripping cold water from his hair all over the kitchen floor. He had been _extremely_ pleased when they showered together, even though it was cramped and the water got cold after a few minutes. 

“What do you mean? He’s fine,” Hotch said. Had Spencer confided in her sometime earlier? 

“No- it’s just… he’s not ready for this. This type of relationship, I mean. He may say he is, but he’s lying because he thinks it’s what you want,” she explained. 

“Why are you speaking for him?” he began, “Has he told you he’s not ready for this?”

“No it’s just- he’s never been in _any_ kind of relationship before. Ever. And I just feel like you’re pushing him into something that he’s not prepared for. Just take it slow, okay?”

“We _are_ taking it slow.” 

“Judging off of the several hickies on his neck, I’d say you’re lying to me.”

He sighed, straightening his tie anxiously. “We- We’re living together.” 

Her jaw dropped, and no attempt was made to try and hide it. There was no point really, the damage had already been done. It was obvious to Hotch that JJ was increasingly disapproving of the route their relationship was taking, no matter how much she claimed to trust him. 

“Haley, kicked you out, I take it.” 

He nodded, “It’s only a temporary arrangment.” 

It was never meant to be a permanent thing. Hotch would sleep there for a couple of days, and when reality finally caught up to them, he would find his own apartment, and become independent again. He wasn’t trying to toy with Reid’s emotions, or rush him into anything he didn’t want to partake in, but at the time that the decision was made, staying over at Reid’s seemed to be the most convenient solution. 

“Jesus Christ, Hotch,” she paused, “Well if you ever make plans to move out, he’s going to think you’re abandoning him.”

It made sense, Hotch supposed, considering the kid’s serious abandonment issues and all. Still, Hotch was sure that if he made it extremely clear that by leaving the apartment, he wasn’t actually _leaving_ , everything would be alright. 

Looking back, maybe that had been a foolish way of thinking. 

“I’ll get a hotel or something for tonight, and I’ll give him an explanation about how things are moving too fast. It’ll be okay.” 

“No Hotch-”

“ _It’ll be fine_ ,” he cut her off. 

She stood up, a hint of annoyance present in her eyes. “Suit yourself, Hotch, but don’t come crawling back to me when he starts crying halfway through your little speech tonight.” 

“I don’t understand,” he hesitated, “You told me that we were moving too fast. This is what you wanted me to do.” 

“ _This_ is not what I meant. I meant to tone it down a little. Don’t just… dive right into sex. Take him on a date or two first. Ease into it. _Not_ this.” 

He tried to argue, but she was already long gone, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor slowly fading.

_It would be fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No JJ slander! She's just trying to protect her best friend.


	17. Utopia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen to me, I’m not leaving you.”

**“SPENCER,** we need to talk.” 

He was pulled through the doorway, grinning at how easily Hotch could manhandle him. “We can talk later,” he whispered, pressing his lips underneath the man’s defined cheekbone. “I want you so bad.” 

He pouted as he was pushed away. 

“What’s wrong, Aaron.” He had finally worked up the nerve to use his first name, and it felt nice. More intimate. Personal. 

“Just sit down on the couch, please.” 

Reid obeyed, making sure to avoid the coffee stain as he set his elbow down on the arm of the chair. He propped his head up against the heel of his hand, avoiding eye contact with Hotch. He wasn’t great with social cues, but something about the way Hotch had told him they needed to talk, then pushed him away when he tried to initiate a kiss didn’t seem promising. Oh God, Hotch was going to dump him- “Aaron?” 

Hotch joined him on the couch, setting a firm hand against Reid’s thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the thick fabric. “I’m getting my own apartment. I think it’s for the best.” 

Reid turned to face him, “You’re leaving me?” 

“No- I just think that this  _ thing  _ is moving too fast. I mean, don’t you? I-” 

“I can’t believe you're leaving already. It’s been what, two days?” 

Hotch scoffed, “Can you even see how immature you’re being? You won’t even let me finish speaking. I’m not leav-”

He paused when he saw the look of disbelief on Reid’s face. Maybe he had taken things too far with his insult, no matter his intent. 

“You’re seriously calling me immature?” 

Hotch didn’t know how to respond. Sure, he had said it. But he certainly hadn’t meant it. Had he? 

“I don’t know, Sweetheart.” 

Reid scrambled off the couch, feet firmly planted facing away from Hotch. “Do not call me that when we’re arguing,” he said, not meaning to come off as intense as he had. 

“We aren’t arguing.” 

“Yes. We are.” 

“No-”

Reid let out a sardonic chuckle, “Now we’re arguing over whether or no we’re arguing. Unbelievable, Hotch.” 

“I’m not the one being unbelievable here!” 

Reid despised that tears were already pricking at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision ever so slightly. He cried when he yelled. Each and every time. And he was barely even raising his voice yet. “So first I’m immature, and now I’m unbelievable,” he choked out, his voice cracking more and more as the sentence went on. 

“You called me unbelievable first,” Hotch exclaimed, jumping off the couch to join Reid. He pushed down whatever anger he had at the sight of Reid’s tear stricken face. JJ had been right, he supposed. “Listen to me, I’m _ not  _ leaving you.” 

He was met with silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath. 

“Maybe you should.” 

And suddenly, this golden utopia they had so painstakingly built was all crumbling down. Hotch felt like he was crumbling down without it, piece by piece. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

“Maybe… m-maybe this isn’t working. Maybe I’m just a rebound. I mean, it feels like no matter what, I’m always going to be the guy you cheated on your wife with.” 

“You don’t think this is working?” asked Hotch. His face was stoic. An efficient mask, perfectly hiding the world of hurt stirring beneath the surface. 

Reid just wanted to scream, “No!” and “I love you!” and kiss him until his lips were numb, but he  _ just _ couldn’t. He felt like he needed to protect himself from whatever impending heartbreak was coming his way and the best way to do that was through half hearted insults and, well… lies. Because Hotch wanted to move out. And even if he wasn’t leaving him now, it was only a matter of time. 

“No, Aaron. I don’t.” 

“Say it,” he demanded, harshly wiping away a stray tear from Reid’s face with the pad of his thumb. 

Reid hesitated, but spoke nonetheless, “ _ This… this isn’t w- working _ ,” he whispered, leaning into Hotch’s hand against his face. His knees nearly gave out when Hotch pulled away. 

“My stuff will be gone by tomorrow morning,” he straightened his tie, finding solace in the familiar silken fabric. It was comforting. Grounding. “I suggest you start calling me Hotch again. Reid,” he added, turning away sharply. 

“Oh my God,” Reid mumbled, low enough for Hotch not to hear with much clarity. He had single-handedly ruined the best thing in his life at the moment. Well, former best thing. And for what? To save himself from a seemingly nonexistent threat? Because according to the genuine hurt seeping out of Hotch’s voice, he had had no intention of breaking things off until just now. Quickly, he rushed to intervene, “No- Aaron please just wait. Don’t leave. P-please.” But it was no use. 

Hotch was already bustling around the house to collect his things, pointedly ignoring Reid’s objections. 

This was entirely his fault. 

He chased after Hotch, into the kitchen, wincing as three travel mugs were removed from a cabinet and placed into a trash bag that he had acquired somewhere along the line. The bag was already bulging with what seemed to be a couple of suits and his toiletries. 

“Hotch, I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean it. This,” he flapped his hands around uselessly between them, “Is working. So well.” 

A chaste laugh was followed by the sound of Hotch’s trash bag hitting the floor, “Haley used to do that too,” he rubbed his eyes with his palms, “Cry when she yelled, I mean. I don’t like how much you remind me of her.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are going to be kind of angsty, and i'm so excited


	18. Functional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hotch was under the impression that things were finally getting better. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is slightly more explicit than other chapters, but its nothing too bad, everything is implied.

**THE** half filled trash bag containing Hotch's belongings remained in the kitchen, hanging heavy over their heads. A silent reminder of the words that had been spoken the two nights prior. Reid found it slightly concerning that Hotch had yet to unpack. The insults from their fight greatly outweighed whispered apologies spoken throughout the nights, no matter how plentiful. Their relationship was no longer about how stolen kisses or early morning shower sex. It was purely a matter of just salvaging whatever was left. 

The last few days had been painfully awkward, to say the least. 

The fight hadn’t even been that horrible, acute at best. Their voices hadn’t been raised exceptionally. They had made up rather quickly, and then cuddled awkwardly for a couple of minutes before Hotch fell asleep and rolled to the other side of the bed (Reid had tried not to read too much into that, though it was hard, considering his limitless knowledge of the subconscious mind). Reid had argued worse with Gideon over a game of chess. 

Maybe the worst part of it all was the fact that the fight was so incredibly anticlimactic. And still, Hotch was ready to leave. They had yelled at each other for seventeen minutes. Less than half an hour of dispute, and Hotch was ready to abandon him. Just like that. 

Earlier that day, before they left for work, JJ had asked Reid if everything was okay. He wanted to tell her that, no, everything was not okay, but he had simply nodded and slipped into the elevator silently. He knew that if his teammates were catching on to the uneasiness between himself and Hotch, it was time to patch things up. 

He stayed awake all night, trying to come up with some sort of plan. He knew that if he just thought this through, he could make Hotch love him. _ Actually _ love him. Not whatever messed up kind of love that made Hotch so willing to cast him aside after a seventeen minute fight. 

By four in the morning he had devised a plan of action. 

Sex. You’d think he’d be able to come up with something better, given his intelligence, but his high IQ and perfect memory were not much help in this specific scenario. 

He was still confident that it would work. Hotch  _ loves _ sex. 

He likes to fuck him into the mattress and pull his hair back. He likes it when Reid whines and begs with Hotch’s hand wrapped securely around his throat, pressed down just hard enough to make the skin there red. He seems to enjoy calling Reid names. Slut. Whore. Anything demeaning or degrading enough to make Reid blush. 

Not that Reid isn’t fond of it. Although his enjoyment was more so dependent on Hotch being the one doing all these things to him. He turned to look at the man sleeping next to him, heart warmed by his breathy snores. Reid wondered if Hotch felt this way when he looked at him. Butterflies and a sinking, straining feeling of impending doom in the pit of his stomach. 

He crawled over to the other side of the bed, straddling Hotch’s sleeping form and mewling into his ear. Hotch scrunched his eyes shut, and nudged him off, “M’ sleeping, Spence,” he mumbled groggily. 

“Aaron, I want you to fuck me,” he whispered, sliding his hand up and down Hotch’s abdomen, “Please.” 

“What?” 

Hotch sat up, his back pressed up against the headboard. “What’s this about, Spencer?”

“I’ll do anything you want to do. Anything…. I promise. You can call me names and pull my hair. Just f-fuck… m-me,” he whimpered, barely able to get the words out. He wasn’t really in the mood, and he was on the verge of tears. He was congested from all the crying he’d been doing over the past few days. But did any of that really matter? He was doing this for Hotch, not himself. 

“No- no! Spencer it’s like,” he glanced at the clock on Spencer’s bedside table, “four in the morning. What’s wrong with you?” 

Reid collapsed into his Hotch’s chest with a sob wracking through his body. He burrowed his face into the man’s neck, hoping that Hotch couldn’t feel teardrops pattering against his skin. “I’m sorry.” Hotch snaked his hand into Reid’s hair, parting his chestnut curls gently. He didn’t know what was going on. Hotch was under the impression that things were finally getting better. 

They were sleeping in the same bed, watching movies, working perfectly well together in the same office. They were… functional. “Sweetheart,” he soothed, “What’s going on up there?” He tapped his fingers against Reid’s scalp, rhythmically. 

“Why don’t you love me?” 

It was quiet. So quiet that Hotch could almost pretend he hadn’t heard it. Almost. He didn’t quite know how to respond. What the Hell are you supposed to say to someone you love, that isn’t aware of it? How do you convince them? 

He pressed a tranquil kiss to Reid’s hairline, and then another, and another. Reid’s forehead was warm and clammy beneath his lips. “Are you feeling okay?” Hotch said, removing his hand from the mess of curly hair and placing it against Reid’s forehead to take his temperature. 

“Do I look like I’m feeling okay,” Reid retorted. 

Hotch flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the heated skin, rather than away, “You’re warm.” This _ definitely  _ wasn’t deflection, at least that’s what Hotch told himself. Because Reid really did feel hot, and his face was paler than usual. 

And maybe this would give them an excuse to stay home together and actually talk. Except Hotch felt perfectly fine, and he hadn’t missed a day of work since 1999 when he got the stomach flu. Screw that, If Reid caught a cold, then Hotch could catch a cold too. 

“Kiss me, Sweetheart.” 

“What? No if I’m sick, then I’ll just be infecting you.” 

“Yeah, that’s the point, Spence.” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

Hotch pulled Reid towards him and leaned in, stealing a chaste kiss. “Because I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it too me so long to update! I've been really busy with school. Your comments and kudos make my day<3


	19. One Foot Out the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: emetophobia!!!
> 
> "What am I supposed to think?" 
> 
> It's been a while, so last chapter Reid made a plan to get Hotch back, and it didn't pan out all that well. Reid is sick, and Hotch tried to catch whatever Reid had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally decided to write again. Sorry for the long wait. Also this is unedited, I have no motivation.

**HOTCH** woke to a blaring alarm and an empty bed. 

“Spencer?” 

An awful retching noise resonated throughout Spencer's apartment. Hotch jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, the source of the sound. Spencer was kneeling in front of the toilet, hands gripping the cream colored ceramic, floppy hair threatening to dip into the water. 

“I think I contracted the flu. You should isolate yourself from me,” Spencer sighed, speaking into the toilet bowl. Hotch leaned over and grabbed ahold of Spencer’s hair to keep it away from the vomit. “I said stay away, Hotch. Not hold my hair.” 

He persisted silently, running his fingers through the tangled hair. “I saw Anderson coughing around 1pm yesterday. Son of a bitch.” 

Hotch chuckled at Reid’s bluntness, “Around?” 

“At 1:09pm, Anderson coughed twice without covering his mouth. I said, ‘Are you sick?,’ he said, ‘No, I just have a cold,’ I said, ‘That’s contradictory, stay away from me,’ and he stayed away from me for the rest of the day. Obviously, it didn’t work.” 

“Maybe if you’d been nicer to him, he wouldn’t have gotten you sick.” 

Satisfied that this bout of nausea had passed, Reid changed positions, back against the wall with the side of his face against Hotch’s shoulder. “Anderson and I are friends. He understands.” 

There was a long break filled with the soft sounds of an occasional intake of breath. It was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, just content. Reid, who no longer felt nearly as nauseous, curled into Hotch’s lap like a sleepy cat. He stretched around until he felt at ease, lulled to a gentle sleep by the heat emanating off of the other man’s body and the gentle scratching of fingertips behind his ears. 

Hotch heard Reid’s breath rate decrease exponentially, and when he was finally sure that he was asleep, he exhaled in relief. It may have been a relatively calm start to the morning, aside from the vomiting of course, but he hadn’t forgotten the rocky events of the night prior. 

He looked down at the boy in his lap, unable to help the slight grin that pulled at his lips. He looked angelic as he slept, and Hotch could only hope his dreams were as serene as he looked. He deserved a break from the nightmare that was his day to day life. 

After a couple minutes, the quiet snoring ceased, and Reid surged up, immediately placing his forearms on the toilet seat. “‘M gonna throw up again. Get me water?” 

Hotch nodded, ruffling Reid’s hair as he stood. “I’ll be right back, Sweetheart.” 

I I I I I 

“JJ, Anderson got me and Reid sick. We’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Hotch. I tell you not to hurt him and you _contaminate_ him with God know's what. This is just great,” JJ retorted, only half-joking. If anyone was to blame, it was Anderson. But she liked seeing Hotch squirm. Or hearing, she supposed. 

“I didn’t- you know, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“The anger seeping through your voice is response enough.” Hotch could practically hear her smirk through the phone. “Feel better, I’ve got to go.” 

The line clicked, and Hotch shut down his phone completely. The sharp ringtone made his aching head feel like it was going to implode. He had been taking care of Reid earlier that morning, but now that the nausea had passed and Hotch was developing some symptoms of his very own, Reid was returning the favor. 

Hotch was already feeling guilty, but Reid waiting on him hand and foot like a servant was really putting a damper on his mood. Hotch must’ve messed up somewhere along the line, because it was fairly obvious that Reid felt as if it was necessary for him to repay some massive, nonexistent debt. 

“Spence, can we talk?” 

“Famous last words,” Reid mumbled into Hotch’s collar. His entire six foot frame was crumpled up against Hotch, arm’s wrapped around the man’s torso. He was clingy when sick, more so than usual. 

“Do you feel like you… owe me something?” 

Reid was silent for a moment, contemplating the right response. Should he be honest or lie for Hotch’s sake? He decided on the latter, “Of course not.” 

“Spencer,” he murmured, not quite convinced. “Please don’t lie just for my sake.” 

_Great,_ Spencer thought. _I can’t even lie right._

“I don’t know,” he paused, “I mean, you put up with me.”

Hotch’s heart just about shattered. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I can’t imagine I’m very easy to deal with. I guess I’m just trying to keep you around for as long as possible.” 

“Spence…” 

“It’s okay. Really. If this is what it takes for you to love me, I can make do,” Reid pulled Hotch closer, as if his words might cause Hotch to up and leave. Hotch let his fingers drift to Reid’s jaw so he was cupping his chin. 

“I’m not leaving. I love you. You don’t have to act like a 1950’s housewife.” 

A tear slipped down the slope of Reid’s cheek. “Then why haven’t you unpacked your bag?” 

“What?!” 

“The trash bag in the kitchen with all of your stuff. Aaron, you’ve already got one foot out the door. What am I supposed to think?” 

Hotch bolted off the couch, moving so fast that he almost didn’t catch Reid’s whimper. “I’ll be right back.” 

Reid waited on the couch in silence, hoping that Hotch hadn’t lied when he said he’d return. But he hadn’t heard the sound of a door slamming or anything of the sort, rather the quiet crinkling of plastic. 

When Hotch came back, he had an empty trash bag in his hands. “I was going to wait until you were out of the house to unpack. I didn’t want to remind you of what happened. Didn’t really think that one through, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Reid whispered. A massive weight had been taken off his shoulders.

“I love you.” 

Reid grabbed Hotch’s hand suddenly. “I love you too. And I promise I’ll stop sweeping compulsively and making you sandwiches every two hours.” 

Hotch smiled stupidly, “By the way, there’s clothes all over the kitchen floor. I kind of just dumped the bag out due to time constraints.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might end this soon. I didn't plan this out at all but there's probably only going to be a couple more chapters. I have an idea for a new work though! Very excited :)


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's going on in that mind of yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Its been like two weeks since I last updated, so this is a quick summary:  
> Spencer was overcompensating after their last fight and Hotch reassured him that everything was fine, and he loved him.

**SPENCER** Reid was feeling kind of  _ great _ . 

It had been two days since he had last stepped foot into the office and he was beginning to get kind of antsy. Don’t get him wrong, the break had been pleasant, but he enjoyed going to work. It gave his life rhythm, a particular pattern which he looked forward to every day. Ever since Hotch had started staying at his apartment, his routine had been disrupted. He didn't mind all that much t hough, because now he had a new one. 

Wake up next to Hotch, get coffee with Hotch, drive to work with Hotch, go home with Hotch. His entire world revolved around the man, and he couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” 

Reid turned his head, finding said man in the driver’s seat next to him. “Don’t you think they’re going to think it’s weird that we were both out for two days, and now we’re driving into work together?” he asked, adjusting the knobs on the car’s control panel to turn the heat up. Hot, dry air wooshed out through plastic slots, warming Reid’s outstretched hands. 

“I’ll drop you off out front, park, and then come back up. Nobody will know,” Hotch sighed, shutting the heating unit off in one sharp movement. A moment later, he heard the familiar hiss. He turned to look at his _boyfriend(?)_ Reid had a mischievous grin on his face and a thin hand curling around the dial. “It's too hot for this.” 

“There’s frost on the window,” Reid sighed, but Hotch's glower was enough for him to surrender. He leaned back in his seat, sinking into the soft leather. “The baseline for modern car heating technology was created by a woman named Margaret A. Wilcox, but the temperature could not be regulated properly, so it was actually an extreme fire hazard.” 

He rubbed his hands together, generating enough friction to generate heat, although he wasn’t very successful. “I think my hands are turning blue.” 

“You’re so overdramatic, Spencer. We’ve been in the car for five minutes, and it’s 40 degrees out,” said Hotch, weaving his hand across the console to hold Spencer’s. He rubbed his thumb across the chilled skin of Reid’s wrist. “Better?” 

Reid hummed his approval, smiling softly. “Perfect.”

"And it's actually 42." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter wasn't supposed to be the end, but I figured it was a decent place to stop. I'm really unmotivated for this specific work, and I can't think of anything else that needs to be said. I hope you enjoyed!!  
> Also, I'm thinking of starting a new multi chapter fic, (either a high school au type thing or a fwb fic where they both catch feelings.) Lmk what you think<3
> 
> Also, I wrote a scene where the team finds out about their relationship, but it didn't fit anywhere. If you want to read it, tell me and I can post it as part of a series. 
> 
> Okay, bye.


End file.
